diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1192-0.txt | 5155 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1192-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 84825 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1192-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 376665 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1192-h/1192-h.htm | 4869 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1192-h/images/fpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 248102 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1192-h/images/fps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 39871 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1192-h.htm | 3724 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1192-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 66969 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1192.txt | 4319 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1192.zip | bin | 0 -> 63304 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/oldba10.txt | 4275 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/oldba10.zip | bin | 0 -> 61003 bytes |
15 files changed, 22358 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1192-0.txt b/1192-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3cb0e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/1192-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5155 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve, Edited +by G. S. Street + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Old Bachelor + a Comedy + + +Author: William Congreve + +Editor: G. S. Street + +Release Date: January 11, 2015 [eBook #1192] +[This file was first posted on January 8, 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR*** + + +Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen and Co. edition (_Comedies of William +Congreve_, _Volume 1_) by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Portrait of Mr. William Congreve] + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +I. + + +BEFORE repeating such known facts of Congreve’s life as seem agreeable to +the present occasion, and before attempting (with the courage of one’s +office) to indicate with truth what manner of man he was, and what are +the varying qualities of his four comedies, it seems well to discuss and +have done with two questions, obviously pertinent indeed, but of a wider +scope than the works of any one writer. + +The first is a stupid question, which may be happily dismissed with brief +ceremony. Grossness of language—the phrase is an assumption—is a matter +of time and place, a relative matter altogether. There is a thing, and a +generation finds a name for it. The delicacy which prompts a later +generation to reject that name is by no means necessarily a result of +stricter habits, is far more often due to the flatness which comes of +untiring repetition and to the greater piquancy of litotes. I am told +that there are, or were, people in America who reject the word ‘leg’ as a +gross word, but they must have found a synonym. So there is not a word +in Congreve for which there is not some equivalent expression in +contemporary writing. He says this or that: your modern writers say +so-and-so. One man may even think the monosyllables in better taste than +the periphrases. Another may sacrifice to his intolerance thereof such +enjoyment as he was capable of taking from the greatest triumphs of +diction or observation: he is free to choose. It may be granted that to +one unfamiliar with the English of two centuries since the grossness of +Congreve’s language may seem excessive—like splashes of colour occurring +too frequently in the arrangement of a wall. But that is merely a result +of novelty: given time and habit, a more artistic perspective will be +achieved. + +The second question is more complex. Since Jeremy Collier let off his +_Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage_, +there has never lacked a critic to chastise or to deplore—the more +effective and irritating course—not simply the coarseness but, the +immorality of our old comedies, their attitude towards and their peculiar +interests in life. Without affirming that we are now come to the Golden +Age of criticism, one may rejoice that modern methods have taught quite +humble critics to discriminate between issues, and to deal with such a +matter as this with some mental detachment. The great primal fallacy +comes from a habit of expecting everything in everything. Just as in a +picture it is not enough for some people that it is well drawn and well +painted, but they demand an interesting story, a fine sentiment, a great +thought: so since our national glory is understood to be the happy home, +the happy home must be triumphant everywhere, even in satiric comedy. +The best expression of this fallacy is in Thackeray. Concluding a most +eloquent, and a somewhat patronising examination of Congreve, ‘Ah!’ he +exclaims, ‘it’s a weary feast, that banquet of wit where no love is.’ +The answer is plain: comedy of manners is comedy of manners, and satire +is satire; introduce ‘love’—an appeal, one supposes, to sympathy with +strictly legitimate and common affection and a glorification of the happy +home—and the rules of your art compel you to satirise affection and to +make the happy home ridiculous: a truly deplorable work, which the +incriminated dramatists were discreet enough for the most part to avoid. +The remark brings us to the first of the half-truths, which cause the +complexity of the subject. The dramatists whose withers the +well-intentioned and disastrous Collier wrung seem to have thought their +best answer was to pose as people with a mission—certainly Congreve so +posed—to reform the world with an exhibition of its follies. An amusing +answer, no doubt, of which the absurdity is obvious! It does, however, +contain a half-truth. The idea of _The Way of the World’s_ reforming +adulterers—observe the quotation from Horace on the title-page—is a +little delicious; yet the exhibition in a ludicrous light of the thing +satirised is surely an end of satiric comedy? The right of the matter is +indicated in a sentence which occurs in the dedication of _The +Double-Dealer_ far more wisely than in Congreve’s answer to Collier: ‘I +should be very glad of an opportunity to make my compliment to those +ladies who are offended: but they can no more expect it in a comedy, than +to be tickled by a surgeon, when he’s letting ’em blood.’ Something more +than a half-truth is in Charles Lamb’s theory, that the old comedy ‘has +no reference whatever to the world that is’: that it is ‘the Utopia of +Gallantry’ merely. Literally, historically, the theory is a fantasy. +What the Restoration dramatists did not borrow from France was inspired +directly by the court of Charles the Second, and nobody conversant with +the memoirs of that court can have any difficulty in matching the fiction +with reality. I imagine that Congreve in part accepted a tradition of +the stage, but I am also perfectly well assured that he depicted what he +saw. How far the virtues we should associate with the Charles the Second +spirit may atone for its vices is a question which would take us far into +moral philosophy. It is enough to remark that those vices are the +exclusive possession of no period: so long as society is constituted in +anything like its present order, there must be a section of it for which +those vices are the main interest in life. But Charles Lamb’s gay and +engaging defiance of the kill-joys of his day has this value: it is most +certainly just to say that, in appreciating satiric comedy, ‘our +coxcombical moral sense’ must be ‘for a little transitory ease excluded.’ + +For one may apprehend the whole truth to be somewhat thus. Satiric +comedy, or comedy of manners, is the art of making ludicrous in dramatic +form some phase of life. The writers of our old comedy thought that +certain vices—gambling, adultery, and the like—formed a phase of life +which for divers reasons, essential and accidental, lent itself best to +their purpose. They may, or may not, have thought they were doing +society a service: their real justification is that, as artists, they had +to take for their art that material they could use best. They used it +according to their lights: Wycherley with a coarse and heavy hand, so +that it became nauseous; Etherege with a light touch and a gay +perception; Congreve with an instinct of good-breeding, with a sure and +extensive observation, and with an incomparable style. But all were +justified in choosing for their material just what they chose. They +sinned artistically, now here, now there; but to complain of this old +comedy as a whole, that vice in it is crammed too closely, is to forget +that a play is a picture, not a photograph, of life—is life arranged and +coloured—and that comedy of manners is composed of foibles or vices +condensed and relieved by one another. In so far as they overdid this +work, the comic writers were artistically at fault, and Jeremy Collier +was a good critic; but when he and his successors go beyond the artistic +objection, one takes leave to say, they misapprehend the thing +criticised. To complain that ‘love’ and common morality have no place in +satiric comedy is either to contemplate ridicule of them or to ask comedy +to be other than satiric. We know what happened when the dramatists gave +way: there followed, Hazlitt says, ‘those _do-me-good_, lack-a-daisical, +whining, make-believe comedies in the next age, which are enough to set +one to sleep, and where the author tries in vain to be merry and wise in +the same breath.’ These in place of ‘the court, the gala day of wit and +pleasure, of gallantry, and Charles the Second!’ And all because people +would not keep their functions distinct, and remember that as a comedy +they were in a court of art and not in a court of law! The old comedy is +dead, and its spirit gone from the stage: I have but endeavoured to show +that no harm need come to our phylacteries, if a flame start from its +ashes in the printed book. + + + +II. + + +William Congreve was born at Bardsey, near Leeds, and was baptized on +10th February 1669 [1670]. The Congreves were a Staffordshire family, of +an antiquity of four hundred years at the date of the poet’s birth. +Richard, his grandfather, was a redoubtable Cavalier, and William, his +father, an officer in the army. The latter was given a command at +Youghal, while his son was still an infant, and becoming shortly +afterwards agent to Lord Cork, removed to Lismore. So it chanced that +the poet had his schooling at Kilkenny (with Swift), and proceeded to +Trinity College, Dublin, in 1685, rejoining Swift, and like his friend +becoming a pupil of St. George Ashe, the mathematician. In 1688 he left +Dublin, remained with his people in Staffordshire for some two years, +entered himself at the Temple, and came upon the town with _The Old +Bachelor_ in January 1692. _The Double-Dealer_ was produced in November +1693. In 1694 a storm in the theatre led to a secession of Betterton and +other renowned players from Drury Lane: with the result that a new +playhouse was opened in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, on 30th April 1695, with +_Love for Love_. In the same year Congreve was appointed ‘Commissioner +for Licensing Hackney Coaches.’ _The Mourning Bride_ was produced in +1697, and was followed, oddly enough, by the controversy, or rather +‘row,’ with Jeremy Collier. In March 1700 came _The Way of the World_. +The poet was made Commissioner of Wine-Licences in 1705, and in 1714 with +his Jamaica secretaryship and his places in the Customs and the +delightful ‘Pipe-Office,’ he had an income of twelve hundred pounds a +year. He died at his house in Surrey Street, Strand, on 19th January +1728 [1729]. + +One or two comments on these dates are obvious. They dissipate the +Thackerayan fable that on the production of _The Old Bachelor_, the +fortunate young author received a shower of sinecures, ‘all for writing a +comedy.’ + + ‘And crazy Congreve scarce could spare + A shilling to discharge a chair,’ + +writes Swift, and ‘crazy’ indicates that Congreve was gouty before he was +rich. But then, the gout was a very early factor in his life, and one +may call the line an exaggeration. Another couplet: + + ‘Thus Congreve spent in writing plays, + And one poor office, half his days:’ + +probably expresses the truth. With his plays and his hackney coaches he +doubtless got through his twenties and thirties with no very hardly +grinding poverty, and at forty or so was comfortably secure. But another +fact, which the dates bring out very sharply, has a different interest. +At an age when Swift was beginning to try his powers, Congreve’s work was +done. A few odes, a few letters he was still to write, but no more +comedies. Was it ill-health? or because the town had all but damned his +greatest play? or because he cared more for life than for art? + + + +III. + + +The question brings one to an attempted appreciation of the man. Mr. +Gosse, for whose _Life_ I would express my gratitude, confesses that ‘it +is not very easy to construct a definite portrait of Congreve.’ But that +it baffled that very new journalist, Mrs. Manley, in his own day, and Mr. +Gosse, with his information, in ours, to give ‘salient points’ to +Congreve’s character, proves in itself an essential characteristic, which +need be negatively stated only by choice. That no amusing eccentricities +are recorded, no ludicrous adventures, no persistent quarrels, implies, +taken with other facts we know, that he was a well-bred man of the world, +with the habit of society: that in itself is a definite personal quality. +One supposes him an ease-loving man, not inclined to clown for the +amusement of his world. He was loved by his friends, being tolerant, and +understanding the art of social life. He was successful, and must +therefore have had enemies, but he was careless to improve hostilities. +For the temperament which is so plain in the best of his writings must +have been present in his life—an unobtrusive, because a never directly +implied, superiority and an ironical humour. The picture of swaggering +snobbishness which Thackeray was inspired to make of him is proved bad by +all that we know. A swaggerer could not have made a fast friend of +Dryden—grown mellow, indeed, but by no means beggared of his fire—on his +first coming to town, nor kept the intimacy of Swift, nor avoided the +fault-finding of Dennis. It is quite unnecessary to suppose that +Congreve’s famous remark to Voltaire, that he wished to be visited as a +plain gentleman, was the remark (if it was made) of a snob: it was +clearly a legitimate deprecation, spoken by a man who had written nothing +notable for twenty-six years, which Voltaire misunderstood in a moment of +stupidity, or in one of forgetfulness misrepresented. His superiority +and his irony came from a just sense of the perspective of things, and, +not preventing affection for his friends, left him indifferent to his +foes. Probably, also, a course of dissipation (at which Swift hints) in +his youth, acting on a temperament not particularly ardent, had left him +with such passions for war and love as were well under control. The two +women with whom his name is connected were Mrs. Bracegirdle and the +Duchess of Marlborough; but nobody knew—though the latter’s mother hinted +the worst—how far the intimacy went. That is to say, no patent scandal +was necessary to the connexion, if in either case Congreve was a lover. +And (once more) Congreve was a gentleman. + +But why did he become sterile at thirty? Where, if not in dealing with +motives and causes, may one be fancy-free? Here there are many, of which +the first to be given is mere conjecture, but conjecture, I fancy, not +inconsistent with such facts as are known. When Congreve produced his +first comedy, he was but twenty-three, fresh from college and the +country, ignorant, as we are told, of the world. He discovered very soon +that he had an aptitude for social life, that, no doubt, living humours +and follies were as entertaining as printed ones, that for a popular and +witty man the world was pleasant. But no man may be socially finished +all at once. In the course of the seven years between _The Old Bachelor_ +and _The Way of the World_, Congreve must have found his wit becoming +readier, his tact surer, his appreciation of natural comedy finer and (as +personal keenness decreased) more equable, his popularity greater, and—in +fine—the world more pleasant and the attractions of the study waning and +waning in comparison. He was a finished artist, he was born, one might +almost say, with a style; but his inclination was to put his art into +life rather than into print. Even in our days (thank God for all His +mercies!) everybody is not writing a book. There are people whose talk +has inimitable touches, and whose lives are art, but who never sit down +to a quire of foolscap. I believe that Congreve naturally was one of +these, that his literary ambition was a result of accidental necessity, +and that had he lived as a boy in the society he was of as a very young +man—for all its literary ornaments—we should have had of him only odes +and songs. His generation was idler and took itself less seriously than +ours. The primal curse was not imposed on everybody as a duty. In seven +years of growing appreciation Congreve came to think the little graces +and humours the better part. That I believe to have been the first cause +of his early sterility; but others helped to determine the effect. A +certain indolence is of course implied in what has been said. There was +the gout, and there were his unfortunate obesity and his failing sight. +There was Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, an absorbing dame. There +were the success of _Love for Love_ and the failure of _The Way of the +World_. For all that may be said of the indifference of the true artist +to the verdict of the many-headed beast—and Congreve’s contempt was as +fine as any—it is not amusing when your play or your book falls flat, and +Congreve must have known that he might write another, and possibly a +better, _Way of the World_, but no more _Love for Loves_. Not to +anticipate a later division of the subject, it may be said here that a +man of thirty, of a fine intellect and a fine taste, of a languid habit +withal, and with an invalided constitution, while he might repeat the +triumphs of diction and intellect of _The Way of the World_, was most +unlikely to return to the broader humours and the more popular gaiety of +the other play. Congreve, like Rochester before him, despised the +judgment of the town in these matters, but by the town he would have to +be judged. + +He was a witty, handsome man of the world, of imperturbable temper and +infinite tact, who could make and keep the friendship of very various +men, and be intimate with a woman without quarrelling with her lovers. +He had a taste for pictures and a love for music. He must have hated +violence and uproar, and liked the finer shades of life. He wore the +mode of his day, and was free from the superficial protests of the +narrow-minded. Possibly not a very ‘definite portrait,’ possibly a very +negative characterisation. Possibly, also, a tolerably sure foundation +for a structure of sympathetic imagination. + + + +IV. + + +Passing from necessarily vague and not obviously pertinent remarks to +criticism, which may fairly be less diffident, we leave Congreve’s life +and come to his work, to his ‘tawdry playhouse taper,’ as Thackeray +called it. It is only after the man has appeared that we recognise that +he came at the hour; but the nature of the hour is in this case not +difficult to be discerned. The habit of playgoing was well-established; +the turmoil of the Revolution was over; De Jure was at a comfortable +distance, and De Facto’s wife was a patroness of the arts. But playgoers +had but to be shown something better than that they had, to discover that +the convention of the Restoration needed new blood. A justification of +its choice of material has been attempted: there is no inconsistency in +affirming that the tendency to use it with a mere monotony of ribaldry +was emphatic. Of this tendency the most notable and useful illustration +is Wycherley, because in point of wit and dramatic skill he dwarfed his +colleagues. As Mr. Swinburne has said, the art of Congreve is different +in kind, not merely in degree, from the cruder and more boisterous +product of the ‘brawny’ dramatist. Happily, however, for his success, +the difference was not instantly clear. His first play links him with +Wycherley, not with that rare and faint embryo of the later Congreve, +George Etherege. ‘You was always a gentleman, Mr. George,’ as the valet +says in _Beau Austin_. Happily for his popularity Congreve first +followed the more popular man. It is not, indeed, until he wrote his +last play that he was a whole Etherege idealised, albeit a greater than +Etherege in the meantime. The peculiar effect which Etherege achieved in +_Sir Fopling Flutter_—at whom and with whom you laugh at once—was not +sublimated (the fineness left, the faintness become firmness) until +Congreve created Witwoud, the inimitable, in _The Way of the World_. + +At the very first Congreve had good fortune in his players. It was a +brave time for them. True, their salaries were not wonderfully large. +Colley Cibber complains of the days before the revolt in 1694: ‘at what +unequal salaries the hired actors were held by the absolute authority of +their frugal masters, the patentees.’ But the example was not faded of +those gay days when they were the pets of the most artistic court that +England has known: when great ladies carried Kynaston in his woman’s +dress to Hyde Park after the play, and the King was the most persistent +and the most interested playgoer in his realm. They were not thus petted +for irrelevant reasons—for their respectability, their piety, or their +domestic virtues; and their recognition as artists by an artistic society +did not spoil their art. When Congreve started on his course of +play-writing, Queen Mary kept up, in a measure, the amiable custom of her +uncle. He was very fortunate in his casts. There was Betterton, first +of all, the versatile, the restrained, and, witness everybody, the +incomparable. There was Underhill, ‘a correct and natural comedian’—one +must quote Cibber pretty often in this connexion—not well suited, one +must suppose, to play Setter to Betterton’s Heartwell in _The Old +Bachelor_, but by reason of his admirable assumption of stupidity to make +an excellent Sir Sampson in _Love for Love_. There were Powel, Williams, +Verbruggen, Bowen, and Dogget (Fondlewife in the first play: afterwards +Ben Legend, a part which made his fame and turned his head)—all notable +comedians. Kynaston, graceful in old age as he had been beautiful in +youth, was not in _The Old Bachelor_, but created Lord Touchwood in _The +Double-Dealer_. Mountfort had been murdered by my Lord Mohun, and Leigh +had followed him to the grave, but their names lived in their wives. +Mrs. Mountfort ‘was mistress of more variety of humour than I ever knew +in any one woman actress . . . nothing, though ever so barren, if within +the bounds of nature, could be flat in her hands.’ Indeed ‘she was so +fond of humour, in what low part soever to be found, that she would make +no scruple of defacing her fair form to come heartily into it’—assuredly +a rare actress! About Mrs. Leigh Cibber is less enthusiastic, but grants +her ‘a good deal of humour’: her old women were famous. Mrs. Barry was a +stately, dignified actress, best, no doubt, in tragedy. Lastly, there +was Mrs. Bracegirdle, the innocent _publica cura_, whom authors courted +through their plays, and who had all the men in the house for longing +lovers. Who shall say how far ‘her youth and lively aspect’ influenced +the criticisms that have come down to us? She played Millamant to +Congreve’s satisfaction. + + + +V. + + +It is not difficult to understand how it was that Dryden thought _The Old +Bachelor_ the best first play he had seen, and the town applauded to the +echo. But it is a little hard to understand why later critics, with the +three other comedies before them, have not more expressly marked the +difference between the first and those. There is no new tune in _The Old +Bachelor_: it is an old tune more finely played, and for that very reason +it met with immediate acceptance. It is not likely that Dryden—a great +poet and a great and generous critic, it may be, but an old man—would +have bestowed such unhesitating approval on a play which ignored the +conventions in which he had lived. As it was, he saw those conventions +reverently followed, yet served by a master wit. The fact that Congreve +allowed Dryden and others to ‘polish’ his play, by giving it an air of +the stage and the town which it lacked, need not of course spoil it for +us. The stamp of Congreve is clearly marked on the dialogue, though not +on every page. You may see its essentials in two passages taken +absolutely at random. ‘Come, come,’ says Bellmour in the very first +scene, ‘leave business to idlers and wisdom to fools; they have need of +’em: wit be my faculty and pleasure my occupation, and let Father Time +shake his glass.’ Or Fondlewife soliloquises: ‘Tell me, Isaac, why art +thee jealous? Why art thee distrustful of the wife of thy bosom? +Because she is young and vigorous, and I am old and impotent. Then why +didst thee marry, Isaac? Because she was beautiful and tempting, and +because I was obstinate and doating. . . .’ In the one passage is the +gay and skilfully light paradox, in the other the clean, rhythmical, and +balanced, yet dramatic and appropriate English that are elements of +Congreve’s style. It is in the conventions of its characterisation that +_The Old Bachelor_ belongs, not to true Congrevean comedy but, to that of +the models from which he was to break away. The characterisation of _The +Way of the World_ is light and true, that of _The Old Bachelor_ is heavy +and yet vague. Vainlove indeed, the ‘mumper in love,’ who ‘lies canting +at the gate,’ is individual and Congrevean. But Heartwell, the +blustering fool, Bellmour, the impersonal rake, Wittol and Bluffe, the +farcical sticks, Fondlewife, the immemorial city husband, and the troop +of undistinguished women—what can be said of them but that they are +glaring stage properties, speaking better English than the comic stage +had before attracted? Germs, possibly, of better things to come, that is +all, so far as characterisation goes. The Fondlewife episode, in +particular, which doubtless was mightily popular—what is there more in it +than the mutton fisted wit and brutality of Wyeherley, with some of +Congreve’s English? Such scenes as these, it may be hazarded, so +contemptible in the light of Congreve’s better work, are ineffective now +because they fall between two stools: between the comedy (or tragedy) of +a crude physical fact, naked and impossible, as in Rochester, and the +comedy (or tragedy) of delicately-phrased intrigue. The latter was yet +to come when this play was produced, and meantime such episodes went very +well, and their popularity is intelligible. For the rest _The Old +Bachelor_, though to us in these days its plot appear a somewhat +uninspiring piece of fairyland, was a good acting play, fitted with great +skill to its actual players. The part of Fondlewife, created by Dogget, +was on a revival played (to his own immense satisfaction) by Colley +Cibber. In Araminta Mrs. Bracegirdle began (in a faint outline as it +were) the series of lively, sympathetic, intelligent heroines which +Congreve wrote for her. Lord Falkland’s Prologue is as funny as it is +indecently suggestive, which is saying a great deal. The one actually +spoken gave an opportunity of the merriest archness to Mrs. Bracegirdle, +and was calculated to put the audience in the best of good humours. + +The faults of _The Double-Dealer_ are obvious on a first reading, and +were very justly condemned on a first acting. The intrigue is wearisome: +its involutions are ineffectively puzzling. Maskwell’s villainy and +Mellefont’s folly are both unconvincing. The tragedy of Lady Touchwood, +less tragic than that of Lady Wishfort in _The Way of the World_, is more +obviously than that out of the picture. The play is, in fact, not pure +comedy of manners: it is that _plus_ tragedy, an element less offensive +than the sentimentality which spoils _The School for Scandal_, but yet a +notable fault. For while you can resolve the tragedy of Lady Wishfort +into wicked and very grim comedy, you can do nothing with the tragedy of +Lady Touchwood but try to ignore it. In his epistle dedicatory to +Charles Montague, Congreve admits that his play has faults, but does not +take in hand those adduced above, with the exception of the objections to +Maskwell and Mellefont. ‘They have mistaken cunning in one character for +folly in another’: an ineffectual answer, because the extremity of +cunning is equally destructive of dramatic balance. He defends his use +of soliloquy very warmly: of which it may be said that, so long as his +rule—that no character may overhear the soliloquiser—is observed, it is a +tolerable convention, but a confession of weakness in construction. He +declares he ‘would rather disoblige all the critics in the world than one +of the fair sex,’ and, having made his bow, he turns upon the ladies and +rends them. An author campaigning against his critics is always a +pleasant spectacle, but Congreve’s defence of _The Double-Dealer_ is +rather amusing than convincing. + +It needed no defence; for with all its faults, such as they are, upon it, +there are in it scenes and characters which only Congreve could have +made. Brisk is a worthy forerunner of Witwoud, Sir Paul Plyant a +delicious old credulous fool; while the tyrannical and vain Lady Plyant +is so drawn that you almost love her. But the triumph is Lady Froth, ‘a +great coquet, pretender to poetry, wit, and learning,’ and one would +almost as lief have seen Mrs. Mountfort in the part as the Bracegirdle’s +Millamant. Her serious folly and foolish wisdom, her poem and malice and +compliments and babbling vivacity—set off, it is fair to remember, by a +pretty face—are atonement for a dozen Maskwells. She is a female +Witwoud, her author’s first success in a sort of character he draws to +perfection. The scene between Mellefont and Lady Plyant, where she +insists on believing that the gallant, under cover of a marriage with her +stepdaughter, purposes to lead her astray, and where she goes through a +delightful farce of answering her scruples before the bewildered man—the +scene that for some far-fetched reason led Macaulay’s mind to the incest +in the _Oedipus Rex_—is perhaps the best comedy of situation in the +piece. But the scene of defamation between the Froths and Brisk is +notable as (with the Cabal idea in _The Way of the World_) the +inspiration of the Scandal Scenes in Sheridan’s play. When we remember +that less than two years were gone since the production of _The Old +Bachelor_, the improvement in Congreve is remarkable. Almost his only +concession to the groundlings is the star-gazing episode of Lady Froth +and Brisk: a mistake, because it spoils her inconsequent folly, but a +small matter. In his second play Congreve was himself, the wittiest and +most polished writer of comedy in English. In the face of this fact ‘the +public’ conducted itself characteristically: it more or less damned _The +Double-Dealer_ until the queen approved, when it applauded lustily. That +occasion gave Colley Cibber his first chance as Kynaston’s substitute in +Lord Touchwood. When one remembers Dryden’s long, struggling, cudgelling +and cudgelled life, it is impossible to read without emotion his tribute +to a very young and successful author in the verses prefixed to this +play: + + Firm Doric pillars found your solid base: + The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space; + Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. + . . . . . + We cannot envy you, because we love. + . . . . . + Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought, + But Genius must be born, and never can be taught. + This is your portion, this your native store; + Heav’n, that but once was prodigal before. + To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more. + +The tribute is indubitably sincere; in point of Congreve’s wit and +diction it is as indubitably true. + +_Love for Love_ was the most popular of Congreve’s comedies: it held the +stage so long that Hazlitt could say, ‘it still acts and is still acted +well.’ Being wise after the event, one may give some obvious reasons. +It is more human than any other of his plays, and at the same time more +farcical. By ‘more human’ it is not meant that the characters are truer +to life than those in _The Way of the World_, but that they are truer to +average life, and therefore more easily recognisable by the average +spectator. Tattle, for instance, is so gross a fool, that any fool in +the pit could see his folly; Witwoud might deceive all but the elect. No +familiarity—direct or indirect—with a particular mode of life and speech +is necessary to the appreciation of _Love for Love_. Sir Sampson Legend +is your unmistakable heavy father, cross-grained and bullying. Valentine +is no ironical, fine gentleman like Mirabell, but a young rake from +Cambridge, all debts and high spirits. Scandal is a plain railer at +things, especially women; Ben Legend a sea-dog who cannot speak without a +nautical metaphor; Jeremy an idealised comic servant; and Foresight +grotesque farce. Angelica is a shrewd but hearty ‘English girl,’ and +Miss Prue a veritable country Miss; while Mrs. Frail and Mrs. Foresight +are broadly skittish matrons. There is nothing in the play to strain the +attention or to puzzle the intellect, and it is full of laughter: no +wonder it was a success. It is, intellectually, on an altogether +different plane from _The Way of the World_, on a slightly lower one than +_The Double-Dealer_. But in its own way it is irresistibly funny, and by +reason of its diction it is never for a moment other than distinguished. + +I imagine the bodkin scene will always take the palm in it for mere +mirth. Delightful sisters! + + I suppose you would not go alone to the World’s End? + + The World’s End! What, do you mean to banter me? + + Poor innocent! You don’t know that there’s a place called the + World’s End? + + I’ll swear you can keep your countenance purely; you’d make an + admirable player. . . . But look you here, now—where did you lose + this gold bodkin?—Oh, sister, sister! + + My bodkin? + + Nay, ’tis yours; look at it. + + Well, if you go to that, where did you find this bodkin? Oh, sister, + sister!—sister every way. + +Broad, popular comedy, it is admirable; but it is not especially +Congrevean. Tattle’s love-lesson to Miss Prue and his boasting of his +duchesses are in the same broad vein. Valentine’s mad scene is more +remarkable, in that Congreve gives rein to his fancy, and that his +diction is at its very best. ‘Hark’ee, I have a secret to tell you. +Endymion and the Moon shall meet us upon Mount Latmos, and will be +married in the dead of night. But say not a word. Hymen shall put his +torch into a dark lanthorn, that it may be secret, and Juno shall give +her peacock poppy-water, that he may fold his ogling tail, and Argus’s +hundred eyes be shut, ha? Nobody shall know, but Jeremy.’ + + TATTLE. Do you know me, Valentine? + + VALENTINE. You? Who are you? No, I hope not. + + TATTLE. I am Jack Tattle, your friend. + + VALENTINE. My friend, what to do? I am no married man, and thou + canst not lie with my wife. I am very poor, and thou canst not + borrow money of me. Then, what employment have I for a friend? + + ANGELICA. Do you know me, Valentine? + + VALENTINE. Oh, very well. + + ANGELICA. Who am I? + + VALENTINE. You’re a woman, one to whom Heaven gave beauty when it + grafted roses on a briar. You are the reflection of Heaven in a + pond, and he that leaps at you is sunk. You are all white, a sheet + of lovely, spotless paper, when you first are born; but you are to be + scrawled and blotted by every goose’s quill. I know you; for I loved + a woman, and loved her so long, that I found out a strange thing: I + found out what a woman was good for. + +Imagine Betterton, the greatest actor of his time, delivering that last +speech, with its incomparable rhythm! I like to think that he gave the +spectators an idea that Valentine’s self-sacrifice for Angelica was +nothing but a bold device, a calculated effect; otherwise the sacrifice +is an excrescence in this comedy, which, popular and broad though it be, +is cynical in Congreve’s manner throughout. One is consoled, however, by +the pleasant fate of the ingenious Mr. Tattle and the intriguing Mrs. +Frail, who are left tied for life against their will. The trick, by the +way, of a tricked marriage is constant in Congreve, and reveals his +poverty of construction. He can devise you comic situations +unflaggingly, but when he approaches the end of a play his _deus ex +machinâ_ is invariably this flattest and most battered old deity in +fairyland. + +The dedication to Lord Dorset contains nothing of interest beyond the +confession that the play is too long, and the information that part of it +was omitted in the playing. A line in the prologue, ‘We grieve One +falling Adam and one tempted Eve,’ is explained by Colley Cibber to refer +to Mrs. Mountford, who, having cast her lot with Betterton and migrated +to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, threw up her part on a question of cash, and to +Williams, an actor who ‘loved his bottle better than his business,’ who +deserted at the same time. It serves to show the interest the town took +in the players, that the fact was referred to on the stage. The lady’s +part was taken by Mrs. Ayliff; Mrs. Leigh played the nurse—a very poor +part after Lady Plyant; Dogget’s success as Ben Legend has been noted. +Mrs. Bracegirdle’s Angelica was doubtless ravishing: a ‘virtuous young +woman,’ as our ancestors phrased it, but quite relieved from insipidity. + +It would need a greater presumption than the writer is gifted withal to +add his contribution to the praises critics have lavished on _The Way of +the World_. It is better to quote Mr. Swinburne. ‘In 1700 Congreve +replied to Collier with the crowning work of his genius—the unequalled +and unapproached masterpiece of English comedy. The one play in our +language which may fairly claim a place beside, or but just beneath, the +mightiest work of Molière, is _The Way of the World_.’ But he continues: +‘On the stage, which had recently acclaimed with uncritical applause the +author’s more questionable appearance in the field of tragedy,’—_The +Mourning Bride_,—‘this final and flawless evidence of his incomparable +powers met with a rejection then and ever since inexplicable on any +ground of conjecture.’ There the critics are not unanimous. Mr. Gosse, +for instance, has his explanation: that the spectators must have +fidgeted, and wished ‘that the actors and actresses would be doing +something.’ Very like, indeed: the spectators, then as now, would no +doubt have preferred ‘knock-about farce.’ But, I venture to think, the +explanation is not complete. The construction of the play is weak, +certainly, but the actors and actresses do a great deal after all. For +that matter, audiences will stand scenes of still wit—but they like to +comprehend it; and the characters in _The Way of the World_, or most of +them, represent a society whose attitude and speech are entirely ironical +and paradoxical, a society of necessity but a small fraction of any +community. Some sort of study or some special experience is necessary to +the enjoyment of such a set. It is not the case of a few witticisms and +paradoxes firing off at intervals, like crackers, from the mouths of one +or two actors with whom the audience is taught to laugh as a matter of +course: the vein is unbroken. Now, literalness and common sense are the +qualities of the average uninstructed spectator, and _The Way of the +World_ was high over the heads of its audience. + +To come to details. The tragedy of Lady Wishfort has often been +remarked—the veritable tragedy of a lovesick old woman. All the +grotesque touches, her credulity, her vanity, her admirable dialect (‘as +I’m a person!’), but serve to make the tragedy the more pitiable. +Either, therefore, our appreciation of satiric comedy is defective, or +Congreve made a mistake. To regard this poor old soul as mere comedy is +to attain to an almost satanic height of contempt: the comedy is more +than grim, it is savagely cruel. To be pitiless, on the other hand, is a +satirist’s virtue. On the whole, we may reasonably say that the tragedy +is not too keen in itself, but that it is too obviously indicated. +Witwoud is surely a great character? The stage is alive with mirth when +he is on it. His entrance in the very first part of the play is +delightful. ‘Afford me your compassion, my dears; pity me, Fainall; +Mirabell, pity me. . . . Fainall, how does your lady? Gad, I say +anything in the world to get this fellow out of my head. I beg pardon +that I should ask a man of pleasure, and the town, a question at once so +foreign and domestic. But I talk like an old maid at a marriage, I don’t +know what I say.’ But one might quote for ever. Witwoud, almost as much +as Millamant herself, is an eternal type. His little exclamations, his +assurance of sympathy, his terror of the commonplace—surely one knows +them well? His tolerance of any impertinence, lest he should be thought +to have misunderstood a jest, is a great distinction. But Congreve’s +gibe in the dedication at the critics, who failed ‘to distinguish betwixt +the character of a Witwoud and a Truewit,’ is hardly fair: as Dryden said +of Etherege’s Sir Fopling, he is ‘a fool so nicely writ, The ladies might +mistake him for a wit.’ Then, Millamant is the ultimate expression of +those who, having all the material goods which nature and civilisation +can give, live on paradoxes and artifices. Her insolence is the +inoffensive insolence only possible to the well-bred. ‘O ay, letters,—I +had letters,—I am persecuted with letters,—I hate letters,—nobody knows +how to write letters; and yet one has ’em, one does not know why,—they +serve one to pin up one’s hair.’ ‘Beauty the lover’s gift!—Lord, what is +a lover, that it can give? Why one makes lovers as fast as one pleases, +and they live as long as one pleases, and they die as soon as one +pleases; and then if one pleases one makes more.’ + +In parts of its characterisation _The Way of the World_ is extremely bold +in observation, extremely careless of literary types and traditions. +Mrs. Fainall, a woman who is the friend, and assists in the intrigues, of +a man who has ceased to be her lover, is most unconventionally human. Of +all the inimitable scenes, that in which Millamant and Mirabell make +their conditions of marriage is perhaps the most unquestionable triumph. +‘Let us never visit together, nor go to a play together, but let us be +very strange and well-bred’—there is its keynote. The dialogue is as +sure and perfect in diction, in balance of phrases, and in musical +effectiveness as can be conceived, and for all its care is absolutely +free in its gaiety. It is the ultimate expression of the joys of the +artificial. As for the prologue, it is an invitation to the dullards to +damn the play, and is anything but serenely confident. The dedication, +to ‘Ralph, Earl of Mountague,’ has an interesting fact: it tells us that +the comedy was written immediately after staying with him, ‘in your +retirement last summer from the town,’ and pays a tribute to the +influence of the society the dramatist met there. ‘Vous y voyez +partout,’ said Voltaire of Congreve, ‘le langage des honnêtes gens avec +des actions de fripon; ce qui prouve qu’il connaissait bien son monde, et +qu’il vivait dans ce qu’on appelle la bonne compagnie.’ + +The want of dramatic skill which has been alleged against Congreve is +simply a question of construction—of the construction of his plays as a +whole. His plots hang fire, are difficult to follow, and are not worth +remembering. But many things besides go to the making of good plays, and +few playwrights have had all the theatrical virtues. Do we not pardon a +lack of incident in a novel of character? In this connexion it is worth +while to contrast Congreve with Sheridan, who in the matter of +construction was a far abler craftsman. But is there not in the elder +poet enough to turn the scale, even the theatrical scale, ten times over? +Compare the petty indignation, with which the dramatist of _The School +for Scandal_ deals with his scandalmongers, and the amused indifference +of Congreve towards the cabalists in _The Way of the World_. Or take any +hero of Congreve’s and contrast him with that glorification of vulgar +lavishness and canting generosity, that very barmaid’s hero, Charles +Surface. It is all very well to say that Joseph is the real hero; but +Sheridan made it natural for the stupid sentimentality of later days to +make him the villain, and Congreve would have made it impossible. Of wit +(of course) there is more in a scene of Congreve than in a play of +Sheridan. Moreover, faulty in construction as his main plots are, in +detail his construction is often admirable: as in play of character upon +character, in countless opportunities for delightful archness and cruelty +in the women, for the display of every comic emotion in the men. He +lived in the playhouse, and his characters, true to life though they be, +have about them as it were an ideal essence of the boards. With Hazlitt, +‘I would rather have seen Mrs. Abington’s Millamant than any Rosalind +that ever appeared on the stage.’ A lover and a constant frequenter of +the theatre—albeit the plays he sees bore him to death—cannot, in reading +Congreve, choose but see the glances and hear the intonations of +imaginary players. + + + +VI. + + +Congreve’s choice of material has been defended at an early stage of +these remarks. There is the further and more interesting question of his +point of view, his attitude towards it. Mr. Henley speaks of his +‘deliberate and unmitigable baseness of morality.’ Differing with +deference, I think it may be shown that his attitude is a pose merely, +and an artistic and quite innocent pose. It is the amusing pose of the +boyish cynic turned into an artistic convention. The lines: + + ‘He alone won’t betray in whom none will confide, + And the nymph may be chaste that has never been tried:’ + +which conclude the characteristic song in the third act of _Love for +Love_, are typical of his attitude. Does anybody suppose that an +intelligent man of the world meant that sentiment in all seriousness? + + ‘Nothing’s new besides our faces, + Every woman is the same’— + +those lines (in his first play), which seemed so shocking to Thackeray, +what more do they express than the green cynicism of youth? When Mr. +Leslie Stephen speaks of his ‘gush of cynical sentiment,’ he speaks +unsympathetically, but the phrase, to be an enemy’s, is just. It is +cynical sentiment, and the hostility comes from taking it seriously. I +think it the most artistic attitude for a writer of gay, satiric +comedies, and that its very excess should prevent its being taken for +more than a convention. We are not called upon to see satiric comedies +all day long, and the question, everlastingly asked by implication of +every work of art—‘Would you like to live with it?’—is here, as in most +other cases, irrelevant. One is reminded that there is more in life than +intrigues and cynical comments on them. And one is inclined to put the +questions in answer: ‘Does a man who really feels the sorrowful things of +life, its futile endeavours and piteous separations, find relief in +seeing his emotions mimicked on the stage in a ‘wholesome’ play of +sentiment with a happy ending? Is he not rather comforted by the +distractions of cheerful frivolity, of conventional denial of his pains?’ +The demand is as inartistic and irrelevant as the criticism which +suggested it, but it returns a sufficient reply. It does not touch the +‘catharsis’ of tragedy, which is another matter. For the rest, +Congreve’s attitude, cynicism apart, is an attitude of irony and +superiority over common emotions, the attitude, artificial and +inoffensive, of the society he depicts in his greatest play. He enjoys +the humours of his puppets, he is never angry with them. It is the +attitude of an artist in expounding human nature, of an expert in +observation of life: an attitude attainable but by very few, and disliked +as a rule by the rest, who want to clap or to hiss—who can laugh but who +cannot smile. + + + +VII. + + +When Congreve left the stage, said Dennis the critic, ‘comedy left it +with him.’ Vanburgh and Farquhar were left to expound comedy of manners, +the one with a vigorous gusto, the other with a romantic gaiety. The +peculiar perfume of _The Way of the World_ was given to neither, yet they +wrote comedy of manners. But if Congreve left colleagues, he left no +sons, and most certainly, one may say, that when those colleagues died, +English comedy took to her bed. ‘The Comic Muse, long sick, is now +a-dying,’ wrote Garrick in his prologue to _She Stoops to Conquer_, and +she had not to apologise, like Charles the Second, for the unconscionable +time she was about it. It is a little crude to attribute her demise to +Jeremy Collier and his _Short View_—a block painted to look like a +thunderbolt. It is not a matter of decency, of alteration or improvement +in manners. A comedy might be wholly Congrevean without a coarse word +from beginning to end. It is a matter of the exclusion (not the +stultification), the suspension of moral prepossessions, the absence of +sympathetic sentimentalism, the habit of shirking nothing and smiling at +all things. These qualities are not characteristic of the average +Englishman. Now, satiric comedy did not in its initiation depend upon +the average Englishman. It took its cue from the court of Charles the +Second, who—with a dash of thoroughly English humour—was more than +half-French in temperament, and attracted to himself all that was +artistically frivolous in his kingdom. Questions of decency and +morality—which after all are not perpetually amusing—apart, the social +spirit typified in this exceptional king is one of sceptical humour and +ironical smiles: it takes common emotions for granted—is bored by them, +in fact—and is a foe to sentimentality and gush and virtuously happy +endings. It was the spirit of Charles the Second that inspired English +comedy, and inspired it most thoroughly in Congreve but a few years after +Charles’s death. Under changed conditions, one is apt to underestimate +the influence of the Court upon the Town two hundred years ago. Well, +the Georges became our defenders of the faith, and they hated ‘boets and +bainters.’ English comedy was thrown back upon the patronage and the +inspiration of average England, and up to the time of writing has shown +few signs of recovery. Of course, the decay was gradual: you may see it +at a most interesting stage in _The School for Scandal_, a comedy of +manners with a strong dash of common sentimentality. It would be just +possible, one conceives, to play _The School for Scandal_ as Charles Lamb +says he saw it played, with Joseph for a hero, as a comedy of manners: +you can just imagine Sir Peter as a sort of Sir Paul Plyant, and as not +played to raise a lump in your throat. But Sheridan made it a difficult +task. Perhaps you may see the evil influence at its worst in the +so-called comedies which were our glory twenty-five years ago: in such a +play as _Caste_, an even river of sloppy sentiment, where the acme of +chivalrous delicacy is to refrain from lighting a cigarette in a woman’s +presence, where the triumph of humour is for a guardsman to take a kettle +off the fire, and where the character of Eccles shows what excellent +comedy the author might (alas!) have written. + +One is fain to ask if the spirit of Congrevean comedy will ever come back +to our stage. An echo of it has been heard in dialogue once or twice in +the last few years: not a trace has been seen in action. And yet we +permit our dramatists a pretty wide range of subjects. We allow the +subjects: it is the Congrevean attitude towards them which we should +condemn. But the stage would be all the merrier if we could only +understand that that attitude is harmless; that to see the humorous +aspect of a thing is not to ignore the pathetic or the sociological; and +that we should return all the heartier to our serious and sentimental +considerations of the problems of life for allowing them to be laughed at +for an evening at a comedy. Meantime we can read the book. + + G. S. STREET. + + + + + + THE OLD BACHELOR + A COMEDY + + + _Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria curru_, + _Exanimat lentus spectator_; _sedulus inflat_: + _Sic leve_, _sic parvum est_, _animum quod laudis avarum_ + _Subruit_, _and reficit_. + + —HORAT. _Epist._ I. lib. ii. + + + + +TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD CLIFFORD OF LANESBOROUGH, ETC. + + +MY LORD,—It is with a great deal of pleasure that I lay hold on this +first occasion which the accidents of my life have given me of writing to +your lordship: for since at the same time I write to all the world, it +will be a means of publishing (what I would have everybody know) the +respect and duty which I owe and pay to you. I have so much inclination +to be yours that I need no other engagement. But the particular ties by +which I am bound to your lordship and family have put it out of my power +to make you any compliment, since all offers of myself will amount to no +more than an honest acknowledgment, and only shew a willingness in me to +be grateful. + +I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to be your +lordship’s servant, that it might be more my merit; not that I would +avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my own choice to run me into +the debt: that I might have it to boast, I had distinguished a man to +whom I would be glad to be obliged, even without the hopes of having it +in my power ever to make him a return. + +It is impossible for me to come near your lordship in any kind and not to +receive some favour; and while in appearance I am only making an +acknowledgment (with the usual underhand dealing of the world) I am at +the same time insinuating my own interest. I cannot give your lordship +your due, without tacking a bill of my own privileges. ’Tis true, if a +man never committed a folly, he would never stand in need of a +protection. But then power would have nothing to do, and good nature no +occasion to show itself; and where those qualities are, ’tis pity they +should want objects to shine upon. I must confess this is no reason why +a man should do an idle thing, nor indeed any good excuse for it when +done; yet it reconciles the uses of such authority and goodness to the +necessities of our follies, and is a sort of poetical logic, which at +this time I would make use of, to argue your lordship into a protection +of this play. It is the first offence I have committed in this kind, or +indeed, in any kind of poetry, though not the first made public, and +therefore I hope will the more easily be pardoned. But had it been +acted, when it was first written, more might have been said in its +behalf: ignorance of the town and stage would then have been excuses in a +young writer, which now almost four years’ experience will scarce allow +of. Yet I must declare myself sensible of the good nature of the town, +in receiving this play so kindly, with all its faults, which I must own +were, for the most part, very industriously covered by the care of the +players; for I think scarce a character but received all the advantage it +would admit of from the justness of the action. + +As for the critics, my lord, I have nothing to say to, or against, any of +them of any kind: from those who make just exceptions, to those who find +fault in the wrong place. I will only make this general answer in behalf +of my play (an answer which Epictetus advises every man to make for +himself to his censurers), viz.: ‘That if they who find some faults in +it, were as intimate with it as I am, they would find a great many more.’ +This is a confession, which I needed not to have made; but however, I can +draw this use from it to my own advantage: that I think there are no +faults in it but what I do know; which, as I take it, is the first step +to an amendment. + +Thus I may live in hopes (sometime or other) of making the town amends; +but you, my lord, I never can, though I am ever your lordship’s most +obedient and most humble servant, + + WILL. CONGREVE. + + + + +TO MR. CONGREVE. + + + WHEN virtue in pursuit of fame appears, + And forward shoots the growth beyond the years. + We timely court the rising hero’s cause, + And on his side the poet wisely draws, + Bespeaking him hereafter by applause. + The days will come, when we shall all receive + Returning interest from what now we give, + Instructed and supported by that praise + And reputation which we strive to raise. + Nature so coy, so hardly to be wooed, + Flies, like a mistress, but to be pursued. + O Congreve! boldly follow on the chase: + She looks behind and wants thy strong embrace: + She yields, she yields, surrenders all her charms, + Do you but force her gently to your arms: + Such nerves, such graces, in your lines appear, + As you were made to be her ravisher. + Dryden has long extended his command, + By right divine, quite through the muses’ land, + Absolute lord; and holding now from none, + But great Apollo, his undoubted crown. + That empire settled, and grown old in power + Can wish for nothing but a successor: + Not to enlarge his limits, but maintain + Those provinces, which he alone could gain. + His eldest Wycherly, in wise retreat, + Thought it not worth his quiet to be great. + Loose, wand’ring Etherege, in wild pleasures tost, + And foreign int’rests, to his hopes long lost: + Poor Lee and Otway dead! Congreve appears, + The darling, and last comfort of his years. + May’st thou live long in thy great master’s smiles, + And growing under him, adorn these isles. + But when—when part of him (be that but late) + His body yielding must submit to fate, + Leaving his deathless works and thee behind + (The natural successor of his mind), + Then may’st thou finish what he has begun: + Heir to his merit, be in fame his son. + What thou hast done, shews all is in thy pow’r, + And to write better, only must write more. + ’Tis something to be willing to commend; + But my best praise is, that I am your friend, + + THO. SOUTHERNE. + + + + +TO MR. CONGREVE. + + + THE danger’s great in these censorious days, + When critics are so rife to venture praise: + When the infectious and ill-natured brood + Behold, and damn the work, because ’tis good, + And with a proud, ungenerous spirit, try + To pass an ostracism on poetry. + But you, my friend, your worth does safely bear + Above their spleen; you have no cause for fear; + Like a well-mettled hawk, you took your flight + Quite out of reach, and almost out of sight. + As the strong sun, in a fair summer’s day, + You rise, and drive the mists and clouds away, + The owls and bats, and all the birds of prey. + Each line of yours, like polished steel’s so hard, + In beauty safe, it wants no other guard. + Nature herself’s beholden to your dress, + Which though still like, much fairer you express. + Some vainly striving honour to obtain, + Leave to their heirs the traffic of their brain: + Like China under ground, the ripening ware, + In a long time, perhaps grows worth our care. + But you now reap the fame, so well you’ve sown; + The planter tastes his fruit to ripeness grown. + As a fair orange-tree at once is seen + Big with what’s ripe, yet springing still with green, + So at one time, my worthy friend appears, + With all the sap of youth, and weight of years. + Accept my pious love, as forward zeal, + Which though it ruins me I can’t conceal: + Exposed to censure for my weak applause, + I’m pleased to suffer in so just a cause; + And though my offering may unworthy prove, + Take, as a friend, the wishes of my love. + + J. MARSH. + + + + +TO MR. CONGREVE, ON HIS PLAY CALLED +THE OLD BACHELOR. + + + WIT, like true gold, refined from all allay, + Immortal is, and never can decay: + ’Tis in all times and languages the same, + Nor can an ill translation quench the flame: + For, though the form and fashion don’t remain, + The intrinsic value still it will retain. + Then let each studied scene be writ with art, + And judgment sweat to form the laboured part. + Each character be just, and nature seem: + Without th’ ingredient, wit, ’tis all but phlegm: + For that’s the soul, which all the mass must move, + And wake our passions into grief or love. + But you, too bounteous, sow your wit so thick, + We are surprised, and know not where to pick; + And while with clapping we are just to you, + Ourselves we injure, and lose something new. + What mayn’t we then, great youth, of thee presage, + Whose art and wit so much transcend thy age? + How wilt thou shine at thy meridian height, + Who, at thy rising, giv’st so vast a light? + When Dryden dying shall the world deceive, + Whom we immortal, as his works, believe, + Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage, + Adorn and entertain the coming age. + + BEVIL. HIGGONS. + + + + +PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR THE OLD BACHELOR. +Written by the LORD FALKLAND. + + + MOST authors on the stage at first appear + Like widows’ bridegrooms, full of doubt and fear: + They judge, from the experience of the dame, + How hard a task it is to quench her flame; + And who falls short of furnishing a course + Up to his brawny predecessor’s force, + With utmost rage from her embraces thrown, + Remains convicted as an empty drone. + Thus often, to his shame, a pert beginner + Proves in the end a miserable sinner. + As for our youngster, I am apt to doubt him, + With all the vigour of his youth about him; + But he, more sanguine, trusts in one and twenty, + And impudently hopes he shall content you: + For though his bachelor be worn and cold, + He thinks the young may club to help the old, + And what alone can be achieved by neither, + Is often brought about by both together. + The briskest of you all have felt alarms, + Finding the fair one prostitute her charms + With broken sighs, in her old fumbler’s arms: + But for our spark, he swears he’ll ne’er be jealous + Of any rivals, but young lusty fellows. + Faith, let him try his chance, and if the slave, + After his bragging, prove a washy knave, + May he be banished to some lonely den + And never more have leave to dip his pen. + But if he be the champion he pretends, + Both sexes sure will join to be his friends, + For all agree, where all can have their ends. + And you must own him for a man of might, + If he holds out to please you the third night. + + + + +PROLOGUE. +Spoken by MRS. BRACEGIRDLE. + + + HOW this vile world is changed! In former days + Prologues were serious speeches before plays, + Grave, solemn things, as graces are to feasts, + Where poets begged a blessing from their guests. + But now no more like suppliants we come; + A play makes war, and prologue is the drum. + Armed with keen satire and with pointed wit, + We threaten you who do for judges sit, + To save our plays, or else we’ll damn your pit. + But for your comfort, it falls out to-day, + We’ve a young author and his first-born play; + So, standing only on his good behaviour, + He’s very civil, and entreats your favour. + Not but the man has malice, would he show it, + But on my conscience he’s a bashful poet; + You think that strange—no matter, he’ll outgrow it. + Well, I’m his advocate: by me he prays you + (I don’t know whether I shall speak to please you), + He prays—O bless me! what shall I do now? + Hang me if I know what he prays, or how! + And ’twas the prettiest prologue as he wrote it! + Well, the deuce take me, if I han’t forgot it. + O Lord, for heav’n’s sake excuse the play, + Because, you know, if it be damned to-day, + I shall be hanged for wanting what to say. + For my sake then—but I’m in such confusion, + I cannot stay to hear your resolution. + + [_Runs off_.] + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. + +MEN. +HEARTWELL, a surly old bachelor, pretending to _Mr. Betterton._ +slight women, secretly in love with Silvia +BELLMOUR, in love with Belinda _Mr. Powell_ +VAINLOVE, capricious in his love; in love with _Mr. Williams_ +Araminta +SHARPER _Mr. Verbruggen_ +SIR JOSEPH WITTOL _Mr. Bowen_ +CAPTAIN BLUFFE _Mr. Haines._ +FONDLEWIFE, a banker _Mr. Dogget_ +SETTER, a pimp _Mr. Underhill_ +SERVANT to Fondlewife. +WOMEN. +ARAMINTA, in love with Vainlove _Mrs. Bracegirdle_ +BELINDA, her cousin, an affected lady, in love _Mrs. Mountfort_ +with Bellmour +LÆTITIA, wife to Fondlewife _Mrs. Barry_ +SYLVIA, Vainlove’s forsaken mistress _Mrs. Bowman_ +LUCY, her maid _Mrs. Leigh_ +BETTY. +BOY and FOOTMEN. + + SCENE: London. + + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. + + + SCENE: _The Street_. + + BELLMOUR _and_ VAINLOVE _meeting_. + +BELL. Vainlove, and abroad so early! Good-morrow; I thought a +contemplative lover could no more have parted with his bed in a morning +than he could have slept in’t. + +VAIN. Bellmour, good-morrow. Why, truth on’t is, these early sallies +are not usual to me; but business, as you see, sir—[_Showing Letters_.] +And business must be followed, or be lost. + +BELL. Business! And so must time, my friend, be close pursued, or lost. +Business is the rub of life, perverts our aim, casts off the bias, and +leaves us wide and short of the intended mark. + +VAIN. Pleasure, I guess you mean. + +BELL. Ay; what else has meaning? + +VAIN. Oh, the wise will tell you— + +BELL. More than they believe—or understand. + +VAIN. How, how, Ned! A wise man say more than he understands? + +BELL. Ay, ay! Wisdom’s nothing but a pretending to know and believe +more than we really do. You read of but one wise man, and all that he +knew was, that he knew nothing. Come, come, leave business to idlers and +wisdom to fools; they have need of ’em. Wit be my faculty, and pleasure +my occupation; and let Father Time shake his glass. Let low and earthly +souls grovel till they have worked themselves six foot deep into a grave. +Business is not my element—I roll in a higher orb, and dwell— + +VAIN. In castles i’ th’ air of thy own building. That’s thy element, +Ned. Well, as high a flier as you are, I have a lure may make you stoop. +[_Flings a Letter_.] + +BELL. I, marry, sir, I have a hawk’s eye at a woman’s hand. There’s +more elegancy in the false spelling of this superscription [_takes up the +Letter_] than in all Cicero. Let me see.—How now!—Dear _perfidious +Vainlove_. [_Reads_.] + +VAIN. Hold, hold, ’slife, that’s the wrong. + +BELL. Nay, let’s see the name—Sylvia!—how canst thou be ungrateful to +that creature? She’s extremely pretty, and loves thee entirely—I have +heard her breathe such raptures about thee— + +VAIN. Ay, or anybody that she’s about— + +BELL. No, faith, Frank, you wrong her; she has been just to you. + +VAIN. That’s pleasant, by my troth, from thee, who hast had her. + +BELL. Never—her affections. ’Tis true, by heaven: she owned it to my +face; and, blushing like the virgin morn when it disclosed the cheat +which that trusty bawd of nature, night, had hid, confessed her soul was +true to you; though I by treachery had stolen the bliss. + +VAIN. So was true as turtle—in imagination—Ned, ha? Preach this +doctrine to husbands, and the married women will adore thee. + +BELL. Why, faith, I think it will do well enough, if the husband be out +of the way, for the wife to show her fondness and impatience of his +absence by choosing a lover as like him as she can; and what is unlike, +she may help out with her own fancy. + +VAIN. But is it not an abuse to the lover to be made a blind of? + +BELL. As you say, the abuse is to the lover, not the husband. For ’tis +an argument of her great zeal towards him, that she will enjoy him in +effigy. + +VAIN. It must be a very superstitious country where such zeal passes for +true devotion. I doubt it will be damned by all our Protestant husbands +for flat idolatry. But, if you can make Alderman Fondlewife of your +persuasion, this letter will be needless. + +BELL. What! The old banker with the handsome wife? + +VAIN. Ay. + +BELL. Let me see—_Lætitia_! Oh, ’tis a delicious morsel. Dear Frank, +thou art the truest friend in the world. + +VAIN. Ay, am I not? To be continually starting of hares for you to +course. We were certainly cut out for one another; for my temper quits +an amour just where thine takes it up. But read that; it is an +appointment for me, this evening—when Fondlewife will be gone out of +town, to meet the master of a ship, about the return of a venture which +he’s in danger of losing. Read, read. + +BELL. [_reads_.] Hum, Hum—Out of town this evening, and talks of +sending for Mr. Spintext to keep me company; but I’ll take care he shall +not be at home. Good! Spintext! Oh, the fanatic one-eyed parson! + +VAIN. Ay. + +BELL. [_reads_.] Hum, Hum—That your conversation will be much more +agreeable, if you can counterfeit his habit to blind the servants. Very +good! Then I must be disguised?—With all my heart!—It adds a gusto to an +amour; gives it the greater resemblance of theft; and, among us lewd +mortals, the deeper the sin the sweeter. Frank, I’m amazed at thy good +nature— + +VAIN. Faith, I hate love when ’tis forced upon a man, as I do wine. And +this business is none of my seeking; I only happened to be, once or +twice, where Lætitia was the handsomest woman in company; so, +consequently, applied myself to her—and it seems she has taken me at my +word. Had you been there, or anybody, ’t had been the same. + +BELL. I wish I may succeed as the same. + +VAIN. Never doubt it; for if the spirit of cuckoldom be once raised up +in a woman, the devil can’t lay it, until she has done’t. + +BELL. Prithee, what sort of fellow is Fondlewife? + +VAIN. A kind of mongrel zealot, sometimes very precise and peevish. But +I have seen him pleasant enough in his way; much addicted to jealousy, +but more to fondness; so that as he is often jealous without a cause, +he’s as often satisfied without reason. + +BELL. A very even temper, and fit for my purpose. I must get your man +Setter to provide my disguise. + +VAIN. Ay; you may take him for good and all, if you will, for you have +made him fit for nobody else. Well— + +BELL. You’re going to visit in return of Sylvia’s letter. Poor rogue! +Any hour of the day or night will serve her. But do you know nothing of +a new rival there? + +VAIN. Yes; Heartwell—that surly, old, pretended woman-hater—thinks her +virtuous; that’s one reason why I fail her. I would have her fret +herself out of conceit with me, that she may entertain some thoughts of +him. I know he visits her every day. + +BELL. Yet rails on still, and thinks his love unknown to us. A little +time will swell him so, he must be forced to give it birth; and the +discovery must needs be very pleasant from himself, to see what pains he +will take, and how he will strain to be delivered of a secret, when he +has miscarried of it already. + +VAIN. Well, good-morrow. Let’s dine together; I’ll meet at the old +place. + +BELL. With all my heart. It lies convenient for us to pay our afternoon +services to our mistresses. I find I am damnably in love, I’m so uneasy +for not having seen Belinda yesterday. + +VAIN. But I saw my Araminta, yet am as impatient. + + + +SCENE II. + + + BELLMOUR _alone_. + +BELL. Why, what a cormorant in love am I! Who, not contented with the +slavery of honourable love in one place, and the pleasure of enjoying +some half a score mistresses of my own acquiring, must yet take +Vainlove’s business upon my hands, because it lay too heavy upon his; so +am not only forced to lie with other men’s wives for ’em, but must also +undertake the harder task of obliging their mistresses. I must take up, +or I shall never hold out. Flesh and blood cannot bear it always. + + + +SCENE III. + + + [_To him_] SHARPER. + +SHARP. I’m sorry to see this, Ned. Once a man comes to his soliloquies, +I give him for gone. + +BELL. Sharper, I’m glad to see thee. + +SHARP. What! is Belinda cruel, that you are so thoughtful? + +BELL. No, faith, not for that. But there’s a business of consequence +fallen out to-day that requires some consideration. + +SHARP. Prithee, what mighty business of consequence canst thou have? + +BELL. Why, you must know, ’tis a piece of work toward the finishing of +an alderman. It seems I must put the last hand to it, and dub him +cuckold, that he may be of equal dignity with the rest of his brethren: +so I must beg Belinda’s pardon. + +SHARP. Faith, e’en give her over for good and all; you can have no hopes +of getting her for a mistress; and she is too proud, too inconstant, too +affected and too witty, and too handsome for a wife. + +BELL. But she can’t have too much money. There’s twelve thousand pound, +Tom. ’Tis true she is excessively foppish and affected; but in my +conscience I believe the baggage loves me: for she never speaks well of +me herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me. Then, as I told you, +there’s twelve thousand pound. Hum! Why, faith, upon second thoughts, +she does not appear to be so very affected neither.—Give her her due, I +think the woman’s a woman, and that’s all. As such, I’m sure I shall +like her; for the devil take me if I don’t love all the sex. + +SHARP. And here comes one who swears as heartily he hates all the sex. + + + +SCENE IV. + + + [_To them_] HEARTWELL. + +BELL. Who? Heartwell? Ay, but he knows better things. How now, +George, where hast thou been snarling odious truths, and entertaining +company, like a physician, with discourse of their diseases and +infirmities? What fine lady hast thou been putting out of conceit with +herself, and persuading that the face she had been making all the morning +was none of her own? For I know thou art as unmannerly and as unwelcome +to a woman as a looking-glass after the smallpox. + +HEART. I confess I have not been sneering fulsome lies and nauseous +flattery; fawning upon a little tawdry whore, that will fawn upon me +again, and entertain any puppy that comes, like a tumbler, with the same +tricks over and over. For such, I guess, may have been your late +employment. + +BELL. Would thou hadst come a little sooner. Vainlove would have +wrought thy conversion, and been a champion for the cause. + +HEART. What! has he been here? That’s one of love’s April fools; is +always upon some errand that’s to no purpose; ever embarking in +adventures, yet never comes to harbour. + +SHARP. That’s because he always sets out in foul weather, loves to +buffet with the winds, meet the tide, and sail in the teeth of +opposition. + +HEART. What! Has he not dropt anchor at Araminta? + +BELL. Truth on’t is she fits his temper best, is a kind of floating +island; sometimes seems in reach, then vanishes and keeps him busied in +the search. + +SHARP. She had need have a good share of sense to manage so capricious a +lover. + +BELL. Faith I don’t know, he’s of a temper the most easy to himself in +the world; he takes as much always of an amour as he cares for, and quits +it when it grows stale or unpleasant. + +SHARP. An argument of very little passion, very good understanding, and +very ill nature. + +HEART. And proves that Vainlove plays the fool with discretion. + +SHARP. You, Bellmour, are bound in gratitude to stickle for him; you +with pleasure reap that fruit, which he takes pains to sow: he does the +drudgery in the mine, and you stamp your image on the gold. + +BELL. He’s of another opinion, and says I do the drudgery in the mine. +Well, we have each our share of sport, and each that which he likes best; +’tis his diversion to set, ’tis mine to cover the partridge. + +HEART. And it should be mine to let ’em go again. + +SHARP. Not till you had mouthed a little, George. I think that’s all +thou art fit for now. + +HEART. Good Mr. Young-Fellow, you’re mistaken; as able as yourself, and +as nimble, too, though I mayn’t have so much mercury in my limbs; ’tis +true, indeed, I don’t force appetite, but wait the natural call of my +lust, and think it time enough to be lewd after I have had the +temptation. + +BELL. Time enough, ay, too soon, I should rather have expected, from a +person of your gravity. + +HEART. Yet it is oftentimes too late with some of you young, termagant, +flashy sinners—you have all the guilt of the intention, and none of the +pleasure of the practice—’tis true you are so eager in pursuit of the +temptation, that you save the devil the trouble of leading you into it. +Nor is it out of discretion that you don’t swallow that very hook +yourselves have baited, but you are cloyed with the preparative, and what +you mean for a whet, turns the edge of your puny stomachs. Your love is +like your courage, which you show for the first year or two upon all +occasions; till in a little time, being disabled or disarmed, you abate +of your vigour; and that daring blade which was so often drawn, is bound +to the peace for ever after. + +BELL. Thou art an old fornicator of a singular good principle indeed, +and art for encouraging youth, that they may be as wicked as thou art at +thy years. + +HEART. I am for having everybody be what they pretend to be: a +whoremaster be a whoremaster, and not like Vainlove, kiss a lap-dog with +passion, when it would disgust him from the lady’s own lips. + +BELL. That only happens sometimes, where the dog has the sweeter breath, +for the more cleanly conveyance. But, George, you must not quarrel with +little gallantries of this nature: women are often won by ’em. Who would +refuse to kiss a lap-dog, if it were preliminary to the lips of his lady? + +SHARP. Or omit playing with her fan, and cooling her if she were hot, +when it might entitle him to the office of warming her when she should be +cold? + +BELL. What is it to read a play in a rainy day? Though you should be +now and then interrupted in a witty scene, and she perhaps preserve her +laughter, till the jest were over; even that may be borne with, +considering the reward in prospect. + +HEART. I confess you that are women’s asses bear greater burdens: are +forced to undergo dressing, dancing, singing, sighing, whining, rhyming, +flattering, lying, grinning, cringing, and the drudgery of loving to +boot. + +BELL. O brute, the drudgery of loving! + +HEART. Ay! Why, to come to love through all these incumbrances is like +coming to an estate overcharged with debts, which, by the time you have +paid, yields no further profit than what the bare tillage and manuring of +the land will produce at the expense of your own sweat. + +BELL. Prithee, how dost thou love? + +SHARP. He! He hates the sex. + +HEART. So I hate physic too—yet I may love to take it for my health. + +BELL. Well come off, George, if at any time you should be taken +straying. + +SHARP. He has need of such an excuse, considering the present state of +his body. + +HEART. How d’ye mean? + +SHARP. Why, if whoring be purging, as you call it, then, I may say, +marriage is entering into a course of physic. + +BELL. How, George! Does the wind blow there? + +HEART. It will as soon blow north and by south—marry, quotha! I hope in +heaven I have a greater portion of grace, and I think I have baited too +many of those traps to be caught in one myself. + +BELL. Who the devil would have thee? unless ’twere an oysterwoman to +propagate young fry for Billingsgate—thy talent will never recommend thee +to anything of better quality. + +HEART. My talent is chiefly that of speaking truth, which I don’t expect +should ever recommend me to people of quality. I thank heaven I have +very honestly purchased the hatred of all the great families in town. + +SHARP. And you in return of spleen hate them. But could you hope to be +received into the alliance of a noble family— + +HEART. No; I hope I shall never merit that affliction, to be punished +with a wife of birth, be a stag of the first head and bear my horns +aloft, like one of the supporters of my wife’s coat. S’death I would not +be a Cuckold to e’er an illustrious whore in England. + +BELL. What, not to make your family, man and provide for your children? + +SHARP. For her children, you mean. + +HEART. Ay, there you’ve nicked it. There’s the devil upon devil. Oh, +the pride and joy of heart ’twould be to me to have my son and heir +resemble such a duke; to have a fleering coxcomb scoff and cry, ‘Mr. your +son’s mighty like his Grace, has just his smile and air of’s face.’ Then +replies another, ‘Methinks he has more of the Marquess of such a place +about his nose and eyes, though he has my Lord what-d’ye-call’s mouth to +a tittle.’ Then I, to put it off as unconcerned, come chuck the infant +under the chin, force a smile, and cry, ‘Ay, the boy takes after his +mother’s relations,’ when the devil and she knows ’tis a little compound +of the whole body of nobility. + +BELL+SHARP. Ha, ha, ha! + +BELL. Well, but, George, I have one question to ask you— + +HEART. Pshaw, I have prattled away my time. I hope you are in no haste +for an answer, for I shan’t stay now. [_Looking on his watch_.] + +BELL. Nay, prithee, George— + +HEART. No; besides my business, I see a fool coming this way. Adieu. + + + +SCENE V. + + + SHARPER, BELLMOUR. + +BELL. What does he mean? Oh, ’tis Sir Joseph Wittoll with his friend; +but I see he has turned the corner and goes another way. + +SHARP. What in the name of wonder is it? + +BELL. Why, a fool. + +SHARP. ’Tis a tawdry outside. + +BELL. And a very beggarly lining—yet he may be worth your acquaintance; +a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may extract gold from that dirt. + +SHARP. Say you so? ’Faith I am as poor as a chymist, and would be as +industrious. But what was he that followed him? Is not he a dragon that +watches those golden pippins? + +BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, ’tis a very peaceful one. I +can ensure his anger dormant; or should he seem to rouse, ’tis but well +lashing him, and he will sleep like a top. + +SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney? + +BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, as the image of +valour. He calls him his back, and indeed they are never asunder—yet, +last night, I know not by what mischance, the knight was alone, and had +fallen into the hands of some night-walkers, who, I suppose, would have +pillaged him. But I chanced to come by and rescued him, though I believe +he was heartily frightened; for as soon as ever he was loose, he ran away +without staying to see who had helped him. + +SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army? + +BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier, which +nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does atheism. You +must know he has been abroad—went purely to run away from a campaign; +enriched himself with the plunder of a few oaths, and here vents them +against the general, who, slighting men of merit, and preferring only +those of interest, has made him quit the service. + +SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own performance. + +BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own praise—the only implement +of a soldier he resembles, like that, being full of blustering noise and +emptiness— + +SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten. + +BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will take a drubbing +with as little noise as a pulpit cushion. + +SHARP. His name, and I have done? + +BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded with a title: he +is called Capt. Bluffe. + +SHARP. Well, I’ll endeavour his acquaintance—you steer another course, +are bound— + + For love’s island: I, for the golden coast. + May each succeed in what he wishes most. + + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I. + + + SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, SHARPER _following_. + +SHARP. Sure that’s he, and alone. + +SIR JO. Um—Ay, this, this is the very damned place; the inhuman +cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would have butchered me last +night. No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and +devoured, etc. + +SHARP. How’s this! + +SIR JO. An it hadn’t been for a civil gentleman as came by and frighted +’em away—but, agad, I durst not stay to give him thanks. + +SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I have a thought— + +SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very remembrance makes +me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to this place heartily. + +SHARP. ’Tis but trying, and being where I am at worst, now luck!—cursed +fortune! this must be the place, this damned unlucky place— + +SIR JO. Agad, and so ’tis. Why, here has been more mischief done, I +perceive. + +SHARP. No, ’tis gone, ’tis lost—ten thousand devils on that chance which +drew me hither; ay, here, just here, this spot to me is hell; nothing to +be found, but the despair of what I’ve lost. [_Looking about as in +search_.] + +SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry I’ll stay no longer, for I +have found too— + +SHARP. Ha! who’s that has found? What have you found? Restore it +quickly, or by— + +SIR JO. Not I, sir, not I; as I’ve a soul to be saved, I have found +nothing but what has been to my loss, as I may say, and as you were +saying, sir. + +SHARP. Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it seems. ’Tis an ill +wind that blows nobody good. Well, you may rejoice over my ill fortune, +since it paid the price of your ransom. + +SIR JO. I rejoice! agad, not I, sir: I’m very sorry for your loss, with +all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and if you did but know me, you’d +ne’er say I were so ill-natured. + +SHARP. Know you! Why, can you be so ungrateful to forget me? + +SIR JO. O Lord, forget him! No, no, sir, I don’t forget you—because I +never saw your face before, agad. Ha, ha, ha! + +SHARP. How! [_Angrily_.] + +SIR JO. Stay, stay, sir, let me recollect—he’s a damned angry fellow—I +believe I had better remember him, until I can get out of his sight; but +out of sight out of mind, agad. [_Aside_.] + +SHARP. Methought the service I did you last night, sir, in preserving +you from those ruffians, might have taken better root in your shallow +memory. + +SIR JO. Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is the very +gentleman! How shall I make him a return suitable to the greatness of +his merit? I had a pretty thing to that purpose, if he ha’n’t frighted +it out of my memory. Hem! hem! sir, I most submissively implore your +pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and omission; having my entire +dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of your goodness, which, like an +inundation, will, I hope, totally immerge the recollection of my error, +and leave me floating, in your sight, upon the full-blown bladders of +repentance—by the help of which, I shall once more hope to swim into your +favour. [_Bows_.] + +SHARP. So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the acknowledgment of a +gentleman— + +SIR JO. Acknowledgment! Sir, I am all over acknowledgment, and will not +stick to show it in the greatest extremity by night or by day, in +sickness or in health, winter or summer; all seasons and occasions shall +testify the reality and gratitude of your superabundant humble servant, +Sir Joseph Wittoll, knight. Hem! hem! + +SHARP. Sir Joseph Wittoll? + +SIR JO. The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in _Comitatu_ Bucks. + +SHARP. Is it possible! Then I am happy to have obliged the mirror of +knighthood and pink of courtesie in the age. Let me embrace you. + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir! + +SHARP. My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with interest, since it has +purchased me the friendship and acquaintance of the person in the world +whose character I admire. + +SIR JO. You are only pleased to say so, sir. But, pray, if I may be so +bold, what is that loss you mention? + +SHARP. Oh, term it no longer so, sir. In the scuffle last night I only +dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, I confess, I came half despairing +to recover; but, thanks to my better fortune— + +SIR JO. You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I profess I’m heartily +glad— + +SHARP. Sir, your humble servant. I don’t question but you are, that you +have so cheap an opportunity of expressing your gratitude and generosity, +since the paying so trivial a sum will wholly acquit you and doubly +engage me. + +SIR JO. What a dickens does he mean by a trivial sum? [_Aside_.] But +ha’n’t you found it, sir! + +SHARP. No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in you, sir. + +SIR JO. Humh. + +SHARP. But that’s sufficient. ’Twere injustice to doubt the honour of +Sir Joseph Wittoll. + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir. + +SHARP. You are above, I’m sure, a thought so low, to suffer me to lose +what was ventured in your service; nay, ’twas in a manner paid down for +your deliverance; ’twas so much lent you. And you scorn, I’ll say that +for you— + +SIR JO. Nay, I’ll say that for myself, with your leave, sir, I do scorn +a dirty thing. But, agad, I’m a little out of pocket at present. + +SHARP. Pshaw, you can’t want a hundred pound. Your word is sufficient +anywhere. ’Tis but borrowing so much dirt. You have large acres, and +can soon repay it. Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph—mere dirt. + +SIR JO. But, I profess, ’tis a dirt I have washed my hands of at +present; I have laid it all out upon my Back. + +SHARP. Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, ha, a very good +jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and that’s a better jest +than t’other. ’Tis a sign you and I ha’n’t been long acquainted; you +have lost a good jest for want of knowing me—I only mean a friend of mine +whom I call my Back; he sticks as close to me, and follows me through all +dangers—he is indeed back, breast, and head-piece, as it were, to me. +Agad, he’s a brave fellow. Pauh, I am quite another thing when I am with +him: I don’t fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by. Ah! had he +been with me last night— + +SHARP. If he had, sir, what then? he could have done no more, nor +perhaps have suffered so much. Had he a hundred pound to lose? +[_Angrily_.] + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved a hundred +pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir (a damned hot +fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all my ready money to +redeem his great sword from limbo. But, sir, I have a letter of credit +to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as two hundred pound, and this afternoon +you shall see I am a person, such a one as you would wish to have met +with— + +SHARP. That you are, I’ll be sworn. [_Aside_.] Why, that’s great and +like yourself. + + + +SCENE II. + + + [_To them_] CAPTAIN BLUFFE. + +SIR JO. Oh, here a’ comes—Ay, my Hector of Troy, welcome, my bully, my +Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit pat for thee. + +BLUFF. How now, my young knight? Not for fear, I hope; he that knows me +must be a stranger to fear. + +SIR JO. Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to have died of a +fright. But— + +BLUFF. But? Look you here, boy, here’s your antidote, here’s your +Jesuits’ powder for a shaking fit. But who hast thou got with thee? is +he of mettle? [_Laying his hand upon his sword_.] + +SIR JO. Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: ’a will fight like a cock. + +BLUFF. Say you so? Then I honour him. But has he been abroad? for +every cock will fight upon his own dunghill. + +SIR JO. I don’t know, but I’ll present you— + +BLUFF. I’ll recommend myself. Sir, I honour you; I understand you love +fighting, I reverence a man that loves fighting. Sir, I kiss your hilts. + +SHARP. Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, unless it be to +serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, my country, or my +religion, or in some very justifiable cause, I’m not for it. + +BLUFF. O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are not of my palate: +you can’t relish a dish of fighting without sweet sauce. Now, I think +fighting for fighting sake’s sufficient cause; fighting to me’s religion +and the laws. + +SIR JO. Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir? by the Lord +Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and cloth to him. But, +Back, this gentleman is one of the best friends I have in the world, and +saved my life last night—you know I told you. + +BLUFF. Ay! Then I honour him again. Sir, may I crave your name? + +SHARP. Ay, sir, my name’s Sharper. + +SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very well. By the Lord +Harry, Mr. Sharper, he’s as brave a fellow as Cannibal, are not you, +Bully-Back? + +SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph. + +BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a very pretty +fellow—but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious—Hannibal was a very pretty +fellow in those days, it must be granted—but alas, sir! were he alive +now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth. + +SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at this day a greater +general breathing. + +BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, sir? + +SHARP. Not I, really, sir. + +BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know nothing, sir: I am +afraid you scarce know the history of the late war in Flanders, with all +its particulars. + +SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or gazettes tell us. + +BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, sir, there are not three +words of truth the year round put into the Gazette. I’ll tell you a +strange thing now as to that. You must know, sir, I was resident in +Flanders the last campaign, had a small post there, but no matter for +that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of moment done but an +humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, was an eye-witness of. +I won’t say had the greatest share in’t, though I might say that too, +since I name nobody you know. Well, Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In +all this time, as I hope for a truncheon, this rascally gazette-writer +never so much as once mentioned me—not once, by the wars—took no more +notice than as if Nol. Bluffe had not been in the land of the living. + +SHARP. Strange! + +SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, ’tis true, Mr. Sharper, for I went every +day to coffee-houses to read the gazette myself. + +BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, after all I am content +to retire; live a private person. Scipio and others have done it. + +SHARP. Impudent rogue. [_Aside_.] + +SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if he would put in +for’t he might be made general himself yet. + +BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate this. + +SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you ate fire once out +of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; those impenetrable whiskers of +his have confronted flames— + +BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he’s so modest he’ll own nothing. + +BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I was about. Pray +hold your tongue, and give me leave. [_Angrily_.] + +SIR JO. I am dumb. + +BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. Sharper. This sword +I’ll maintain to be the best divine, anatomist, lawyer, or casuist in +Europe; it shall decide a controversy or split a cause— + +SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by the Lord Harry, +I have seen it. + +BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it’s a lie; you have not seen it, nor sha’n’t see +it; sir, I say you can’t see; what d’ye say to that now? + +SIR JO. I am blind. + +BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted me— + +SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look that way. + +SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph’s penitent. + +BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged culverin. But ’twas +indiscreet, when you know what will provoke me. Nay, come, Sir Joseph, +you know my heat’s soon over. + +SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I’m sorry. + +BLUFF. Enough. + +SIR JO. Come, we’ll go take a glass to drown animosities. Mr. Sharper, +will you partake? + +SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you are Sir Joseph’s +back. + + + +SCENE III. + + + ARAMINTA, BELINDA, BETTY _waiting_, _in Araminta’s apartment_. + +BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, no more. O +Gad! I swear you’d make one sick to hear you. + +ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus? + +BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of that +filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man. You don’t know what you’ve +said; your fever has transported you. + +ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the cure. +Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be extinct till I +myself am ashes. + +BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy. This love +is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed. ’Tis in the +head, the heart, the blood, the—all over. O Gad, you are quite spoiled. +I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your sake. + +ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of Bellmour’s company +would change the scene. + +BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin— + +ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don’t perceive you love +him. + +BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, love a man! + +ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast. + +BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass—which is so like your Vainlove. Lard, I +have seen an ass look so chagrin, ha, ha, ha (you must pardon me, I can’t +help laughing), that an absolute lover would have concluded the poor +creature to have had darts, and flames, and altars, and all that in his +breast. Araminta, come, I’ll talk seriously to you now; could you but +see with my eyes the buffoonery of one scene of address, a lover, set out +with all his equipage and appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would—But you +play the game, and consequently can’t see the miscarriages obvious to +every stander by. + +ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and Bellmour meet. +You don’t know that you dreamt of Bellmour last night, and called him +aloud in your sleep. + +BELIN. Pish, I can’t help dreaming of the devil sometimes; would you +from thence infer I love him? + +ARAM. But that’s not all; you caught me in your arms when you named him, +and pressed me to your bosom. Sure, if I had not pinched you until you +waked, you had stifled me with kisses. + +BELIN. O barbarous aspersion! + +ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I can tell you more. + +BELIN. I deny it all. + +ARAM. What, before you hear it? + +BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. Lard, cousin, you +talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my Sol, I’m afraid you’ll follow +evil courses. + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant. + +BELIN. You may laugh, but— + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha! + +BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. The devil take +Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him? + +ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am sure you love him. I +tell nobody else, cousin. I have not betrayed you yet. + +BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it’s false. + +ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends. + +BELIN. Pish. + +ARAM. Prithee don’t be so peevish. + +BELIN. Prithee don’t be so impertinent. Betty! + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha! + +BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam? + +BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call a chair. + +ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, cousin. + + + +SCENE IV. + + + [_To them_] FOOTMAN. + +FOOT. Madam, there are— + +BELIN. Is there a chair? + +FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove to wait upon +your ladyship. + +ARAM. Are they below? + +FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were at home. + +BELIN. The visit’s to you, cousin; I suppose I am at my liberty. + +ARAM. Be ready to show ’em up. + + + +SCENE V. + + + [_To them_] BETTY, _with Hoods and Looking-glass_. + +I can’t tell, cousin; I believe we are equally concerned. But if you +continue your humour, it won’t be very entertaining. (I know she’d fain +be persuaded to stay.) [_Aside_.] + +BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full and free enjoyment +of that conversation you admire. + +BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look wretchedly to-day! + +ARAM. Betty, why don’t you help my cousin? [_Putting on her hoods_.] + +BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair with a high +roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, you Mrs. Fidget—you are +so ready to go to the footman. Here, take ’em all again, my mind’s +changed; I won’t go. + + + +SCENE VI. + + + ARAMINTA, BELINDA. + +ARAM. So, this I expected. You won’t oblige me, then, cousin, and let +me have all the company to myself? + +BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to trust you to +yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; and in this favourable +disposition of your mind, heaven knows how far you may be tempted: I am +tender of your reputation. + +ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who’s malicious now, Belinda? + +BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure affection. + +ARAM. In my conscience I believe you. + + + +SCENE VII. + + + [_To them_] VAINLOVE, BELLMOUR, FOOTMAN. + +BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both within, ladies, is— + +ARAM. No miracle, I hope. + +BELL. Not o’ your side, madam, I confess. But my tyrant there and I, +are two buckets that can never come together. + +BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and clash. + +BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But this it is to run so +extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such a world of love in your +service, that you think you can never be able to pay me all. So shun me +for the same reason that you would a dun. + +BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent and troublesome of +duns—a dun for money will be quiet, when he sees his debtor has not +wherewithal. But a dun for love is an eternal torment that never rests— + +BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, and then gets it +for his pains. For importunity in love, like importunity at Court, first +creates its own interest and then pursues it for the favour. + +ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, are like +discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, for his ease, +sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing of. + +VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be due rewards to +indefatigable devotion. For as love is a deity, he must be served by +prayer. + +BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, and let us alone. + +VAIN. You are the temples of love, and ’tis through you, our devotion +must be conveyed. + +ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which upon the least +displeasure you forsake and set up new. Every man now changes his +mistress and his religion as his humour varies, or his interest. + +VAIN. O madam— + +ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great +danger of being dull. If my music-master be not gone, I’ll entertain you +with a new song, which comes pretty near my own opinion of love and your +sex. Who’s there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? [_Calls_.] + +FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I’ll call him. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + + ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, _and_ BELLMOUR. + +BELL. Why, you won’t hear me with patience. + +ARAM. What’s the matter, cousin? + +BELL. Nothing, madam, only— + +BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so pestered me with flames +and stuff, I think I sha’n’t endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth. + +BELL. Yet all can’t melt that cruel frozen heart. + +BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy—you said that once before—if you +must talk impertinently, for Heaven’s sake let it be with variety; don’t +come always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. I’ll not hear a sentence +more, that begins with an ‘I burn’—or an ‘I beseech you, madam.’ + +BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am very tractable. + +BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence. + +BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the talk to yourself. +You had better let me speak; for if my thoughts fly to any pitch, I shall +make villainous signs. + +BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as I won’t +understand? + +BELL. Ay, but if I’m tongue-tied, I must have all my actions free +to—quicken your apprehension—and I—gad let me tell you, my most +prevailing argument is expressed in dumb show. + + + +SCENE IX. + + + [_To them_] MUSIC-MASTER. + +ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the discourse. Pray +oblige us with the last new song. + + SONG. + + I. + + Thus to a ripe, consenting maid, + Poor, old, repenting Delia said, + Would you long preserve your lover? + Would you still his goddess reign? + Never let him all discover, + Never let him much obtain. + + II. + + Men will admire, adore and die, + While wishing at your feet they lie: + But admitting their embraces, + Wakes ’em from the golden dream; + Nothing’s new besides our faces, + Every woman is the same. + +ARAM. So, how de’e like the song, gentlemen? + +BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don’t much admire the words. + +ARAM. I expected it; there’s too much truth in ’em. If Mr. Gavot will +walk with us in the garden, we’ll have it once again; you may like it +better at second hearing. You’ll bring my cousin. + +BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but I’ll make signs. +[_Addresses Belinda in dumb show_.] + +BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous than your talking +impertinence, as an ape is a much more troublesome animal than a parrot. + +ARAM. Ay, cousin, and ’tis a sign the creatures mimic nature well; for +there are few men but do more silly things than they say. + +BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for my speech, and +set it at liberty—though, I confess, I could be well enough pleased to +drive on a love-bargain in that silent manner—’twould save a man a world +of lying and swearing at the year’s end. Besides, I have had a little +experience, that brings to mind— + + When wit and reason both have failed to move; + Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove, + Ev’n silence may be eloquent in love. + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I. + + + SCENE: _The Street_. + + SILVIA _and_ LUCY. + +SILV. Will he not come, then? + +LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in and be ready to +receive him. + +SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you? + +LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell. + +SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove. + +LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own maiden-head as his love. +Therefore, e’en set your heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity +mind your own business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait’s worn off +the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly yesterday, and no doubt will +be eager enough to-day to swallow the temptation. + +SILV. Well, since there’s no remedy—yet tell me—for I would know, though +to the anguish of my soul, how did he refuse? Tell me, how did he +receive my letter—in anger or in scorn? + +LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned senseless +indifference. By this light I could have spit in his face. Receive it! +Why, he received it as I would one of your lovers that should come +empty-handed; as a court lord does his mercer’s bill or a begging +dedication—he received it as if ’t had been a letter from his wife. + +SILV. What! did he not read it? + +LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he would take time +to peruse it—but then he was in haste. + +SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He’s gone, and Araminta has bewitched +him from me. Oh, how the name of rival fires my blood. I could curse +’em both; eternal jealousy attend her love, and disappointment meet his. +Oh that I could revenge the torment he has caused; methinks I feel the +woman strong within me, and vengeance kindles in the room of love. + +LUCY. I have that in my head may make mischief. + +SILV. How, dear Lucy? + +LUCY. You know Araminta’s dissembled coyness has won, and keeps him +hers— + +SILV. Could we persuade him that she loves another— + +LUCY. No, you’re out; could we persuade him that she dotes on him, +himself. Contrive a kind letter as from her, ’twould disgust his nicety, +and take away his stomach. + +SILV. Impossible; ’twill never take. + +LUCY. Trouble not your head. Let me alone—I will inform myself of what +passed between ’em to-day, and about it straight. Hold, I’m mistaken, or +that’s Heartwell, who stands talking at the corner—’tis he—go get you in, +madam, receive him pleasantly, dress up your face in innocence and +smiles, and dissemble the very want of dissimulation. You know what will +take him. + +SILV. ’Tis as hard to counterfeit love as it is to conceal it: but I’ll +do my weak endeavour, though I fear I have not art. + +LUCY. Hang art, madam, and trust to nature for dissembling. + + Man was by nature woman’s cully made: + We never are but by ourselves betrayed. + + + +SCENE II. + + + HEARTWELL, VAINLOVE _and_ BELLMOUR _following_. + +BELL. Hist, hist, is not that Heartwell going to Silvia? + +VAIN. He’s talking to himself, I think; prithee let’s try if we can hear +him. + +HEART. Why, whither in the devil’s name am I agoing now? Hum—let me +think—is not this Silvia’s house, the cave of that enchantress, and which +consequently I ought to shun as I would infection? To enter here is to +put on the envenomed shirt, to run into the embraces of a fever, and in +some raving fit, be led to plunge myself into that more consuming fire, a +woman’s arms. Ha! well recollected, I will recover my reason, and be +gone. + +BELL. Now Venus forbid! + +VAIN. Hush— + +HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your office—not one inch; +no, fore Gad I’m caught. There stands my north, and thither my needle +points. Now could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O thou delicious, +damned, dear, destructive woman! S’death, how the young fellows will +hoot me! I shall be the jest of the town: nay, in two days I expect to +be chronicled in ditty, and sung in woful ballad, to the tune of the +Superannuated Maiden’s Comfort, or the Bachelor’s Fall; and upon the +third, I shall be hanged in effigy, pasted up for the exemplary ornament +of necessary houses and cobblers’ stalls. Death, I can’t think on’t—I’ll +run into the danger to lose the apprehension. + + + +SCENE III. + + + BELLMOUR, VAINLOVE. + +BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, ha, poor George, +thou art i’ th’ right, thou hast sold thyself to laughter; the +ill-natured town will find the jest just where thou hast lost it. Ha, +ha, how a’ struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees. + +VAIN. Or a young wench between pleasure and reputation. + +BELL. Or as you did to-day, when half afraid you snatched a kiss from +Araminta. + +VAIN. She has made a quarrel on’t. + +BELL. Pauh, women are only angry at such offences to have the pleasure +of forgiving them. + +VAIN. And I love to have the pleasure of making my peace. I should not +esteem a pardon if too easily won. + +BELL. Thou dost not know what thou wouldst be at; whether thou wouldst +have her angry or pleased. Couldst thou be content to marry Araminta? + +VAIN. Could you be content to go to heaven? + +BELL. Hum, not immediately, in my conscience not heartily. I’d do a +little more good in my generation first, in order to deserve it. + +VAIN. Nor I to marry Araminta till I merit her. + +BELL. But how the devil dost thou expect to get her if she never yield? + +VAIN. That’s true; but I would— + +BELL. Marry her without her consent; thou ’rt a riddle beyond woman— + + + +SCENE IV. + + + [_To them_] SETTER. + +Trusty Setter, what tidings? How goes the project? + +SETTER. As all lewd projects do, sir, where the devil prevents our +endeavours with success. + +BELL. A good hearing, Setter. + +VAIN. Well, I’ll leave you with your engineer. + +BELL. And hast thou provided necessaries? + +SETTER. All, all, sir; the large sanctified hat, and the little precise +band, with a swinging long spiritual cloak, to cover carnal knavery—not +forgetting the black patch, which Tribulation Spintext wears, as I’m +informed, upon one eye, as a penal mourning for the ogling offences of +his youth; and some say, with that eye he first discovered the frailty of +his wife. + +BELL. Well, in this fanatic father’s habit will I confess Lætitia. + +SETTER. Rather prepare her for confession, sir, by helping her to sin. + +BELL. Be at your master’s lodging in the evening; I shall use the robes. + + + +SCENE V. + + + SETTER _alone_. + +SETTER. I shall, sir. I wonder to which of these two gentlemen I do +most properly appertain: the one uses me as his attendant; the other +(being the better acquainted with my parts) employs me as a pimp; why, +that’s much the more honourable employment—by all means. I follow one as +my master, the other follows me as his conductor. + + + +SCENE VI. + + + [_To him_] LUCY. + +LUCY. There’s the hang-dog, his man—I had a power over him in the reign +of my mistress; but he is too true a _Valet de Chambre_ not to affect his +master’s faults, and consequently is revolted from his allegiance. + +SETTER. Undoubtedly ’tis impossible to be a pimp and not a man of parts. +That is without being politic, diligent, secret, wary, and so forth—and +to all this valiant as Hercules—that is, passively valiant and actively +obedient. Ah, Setter, what a treasure is here lost for want of being +known. + +LUCY. Here’s some villainy afoot; he’s so thoughtful. May be I may +discover something in my mask. Worthy sir, a word with you. [_Puts on +her mask_.] + +SETTER. Why, if I were known, I might come to be a great man— + +LUCY. Not to interrupt your meditation— + +SETTER. And I should not be the first that has procured his greatness by +pimping. + +LUCY. Now poverty and the pox light upon thee for a contemplative pimp. + +SETTER. Ha! what art who thus maliciously hast awakened me from my dream +of glory? Speak, thou vile disturber— + +LUCY. Of thy most vile cogitations—thou poor, conceited wretch, how wert +thou valuing thyself upon thy master’s employment? For he’s the head +pimp to Mr. Bellmour. + +SETTER. Good words, damsel, or I shall—But how dost thou know my master +or me? + +LUCY. Yes; I know both master and man to be— + +SETTER. To be men, perhaps; nay, faith, like enough: I often march in +the rear of my master, and enter the breaches which he has made. + +LUCY. Ay, the breach of faith, which he has begun: thou traitor to thy +lawful princess. + +SETTER. Why, how now! prithee who art? Lay by that worldly face and +produce your natural vizor. + +LUCY. No, sirrah, I’ll keep it on to abuse thee and leave thee without +hopes of revenge. + +SETTER. Oh! I begin to smoke ye: thou art some forsaken Abigail we have +dallied with heretofore—and art come to tickle thy imagination with +remembrance of iniquity past. + +LUCY. No thou pitiful flatterer of thy master’s imperfections; thou +maukin made up of the shreds and parings of his superfluous fopperies. + +SETTER. Thou art thy mistress’s foul self, composed of her sullied +iniquities and clothing. + +LUCY. Hang thee, beggar’s cur, thy master is but a mumper in love, lies +canting at the gate; but never dares presume to enter the house. + +SETTER. Thou art the wicket to thy mistress’s gate, to be opened for all +comers. In fine thou art the highroad to thy mistress. + +LUCY. Beast, filthy toad, I can hold no longer, look and tremble. +[_Unmasks_.] + +SETTER. How, Mrs. Lucy! + +LUCY. I wonder thou hast the impudence to look me in the face. + +SETTER. Adsbud, who’s in fault, mistress of mine? who flung the first +stone? who undervalued my function? and who the devil could know you by +instinct? + +LUCY. You could know my office by instinct, and be hanged, which you +have slandered most abominably. It vexes me not what you said of my +person; but that my innocent calling should be exposed and scandalised—I +cannot bear it. + +SETTER. Nay, faith, Lucy, I’m sorry, I’ll own myself to blame, though we +were both in fault as to our offices—come, I’ll make you any reparation. + +LUCY. Swear. + +SETTER. I do swear to the utmost of my power. + +LUCY. To be brief, then; what is the reason your master did not appear +to-day according to the summons I brought him? + +SETTER. To answer you as briefly—he has a cause to be tried in another +court. + +LUCY. Come, tell me in plain terms, how forward he is with Araminta. + +SETTER. Too forward to be turned back—though he’s a little in disgrace +at present about a kiss which he forced. You and I can kiss, Lucy, +without all that. + +LUCY. Stand off—he’s a precious jewel. + +SETTER. And therefore you’d have him to set in your lady’s locket. + +LUCY. Where is he now? + +SETTER. He’ll be in the Piazza presently. + +LUCY. Remember to-day’s behaviour. Let me see you with a penitent face. + +SETTER. What, no token of amity, Lucy? You and I don’t use to part with +dry lips. + +LUCY. No, no, avaunt—I’ll not be slabbered and kissed now—I’m not i’ th’ +humour. + +SETTER. I’ll not quit you so. I’ll follow and put you into the humour. + + + +SCENE VII. + + + SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, BLUFFE. + +BLUFF. And so, out of your unwonted generosity— + +SIR JO. And good-nature, Back; I am good-natured and I can’t help it. + +BLUFF. You have given him a note upon Fondlewife for a hundred pound. + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, poor fellow; he ventured fair for’t. + +BLUFF. You have disobliged me in it—for I have occasion for the money, +and if you would look me in the face again and live, go, and force him to +redeliver you the note. Go, and bring it me hither. I’ll stay here for +you. + +SIR JO. You may stay until the day of judgment, then, by the Lord Harry. +I know better things than to be run through the guts for a hundred +pounds. Why, I gave that hundred pound for being saved, and de’e think, +an there were no danger, I’ll be so ungrateful to take it from the +gentleman again? + +BLUFF. Well, go to him from me—tell him, I say, he must refund—or +Bilbo’s the world, and slaughter will ensue. If he refuse, tell him—but +whisper that—tell him—I’ll pink his soul. But whisper that softly to +him. + +SIR JO. So softly that he shall never hear on’t, I warrant you. Why, +what a devil’s the matter, Bully; are you mad? or de’e think I’m mad? +Agad, for my part, I don’t love to be the messenger of ill news; ’tis an +ungrateful office—so tell him yourself. + +BLUFF. By these hilts I believe he frightened you into this composition: +I believe you gave it him out of fear, pure, paltry fear—confess. + +SIR JO. No, no, hang’t; I was not afraid neither—though I confess he did +in a manner snap me up—yet I can’t say that it was altogether out of +fear, but partly to prevent mischief—for he was a devilish choleric +fellow. And if my choler had been up too, agad, there would have been +mischief done, that’s flat. And yet I believe if you had been by, I +would as soon have let him a’ had a hundred of my teeth. Adsheart, if he +should come just now when I’m angry, I’d tell him—Mum. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + + [_To them_] BELLMOUR, SHARPER. + +BELL. Thou ’rt a lucky rogue; there’s your benefactor; you ought to +return him thanks now you have received the favour. + +SHARP. Sir Joseph! Your note was accepted, and the money paid at sight. +I’m come to return my thanks— + +SIR JO. They won’t be accepted so readily as the bill, sir. + +BELL. I doubt the knight repents, Tom. He looks like the knight of the +sorrowful face. + +SHARP. This is a double generosity: do me a kindness and refuse my +thanks. But I hope you are not offended that I offered them. + +SIR JO. May be I am, sir, may be I am not, sir, may be I am both, sir; +what then? I hope I may be offended without any offence to you, sir. + +SHARP. Hey day! Captain, what’s the matter? You can tell. + +BLUFF. Mr. Sharper, the matter is plain: Sir Joseph has found out your +trick, and does not care to be put upon, being a man of honour. + +SHARP. Trick, sir? + +SIR JO. Ay, trick, sir, and won’t be put upon, sir, being a man of +honour, sir, and so, sir— + +SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In consideration of some +favours lately received, I would not have you draw yourself into a +_premunire_, by trusting to that sign of a man there—that pot-gun charged +with wind. + +SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify yourself—I’ll give him the +lie if you’ll stand to it. + +SHARP. Nay, then, I’ll be beforehand with you, take that, oaf. [_Cuffs +him_.] + +SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won’t you pink his soul? + +BLUFF. Husht, ’tis not so convenient now—I shall find a time. + +SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? You were the +incendiary. There’s to put you in mind of your time.—A memorandum. +[_Kicks him_.] + +BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use on’t. + +SHARP. I—Gad and so I will: there’s again for you. [_Kicks him_.] + +BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a place to thank +you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen again? + +SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be felt—as for example. +[_Kicks him_.] + +BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; ’tis scandalous to kick this puppy +unless a man were cold and had no other way to get himself aheat. + + + +SCENE IX. + + + SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. + +BLUFF. Very well—very fine—but ’tis no matter. Is not this fine, Sir +Joseph? + +SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very indifferent. I’d rather +go plain all my life than wear such finery. + +BLUFF. Death and hell to be affronted thus! I’ll die before I’ll suffer +it. [_Draws_.] + +SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. Nay, dear Captain, +don’t be in passion now he’s gone. Put up, put up, dear Back, ’tis your +Sir Joseph begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up. + +BLUFF. By heaven, ’tis not to be put up. + +SIR JO. What, Bully? + +BLUFF. The affront. + +SIR JO. No, aged, no more ’tis, for that’s put up all already; thy +sword, I mean. + +BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty—But were not you, my friend, +abused, and cuffed, and kicked? [_Putting up his sword_.] + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, ’tis past. + +BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, ’tis false—he sucks not +vital air who dares affirm it to this face. [_Looks big_.] + +SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, I grant you—not to +that face, by the Lord Harry. If you had put on your fighting face +before, you had done his business—he durst as soon have kissed you, as +kicked you to your face. But a man can no more help what’s done behind +his back than what’s said—Come, we’ll think no more of what’s past. + +BLUFF. I’ll call a council of war within to consider of my revenge to +come. + + + +SCENE X. + + + HEARTWELL, SILVIA. _Silvia’s apartment_. + + SONG. + + As Amoret and Thyrsis lay + Melting the hours in gentle play, + Joining faces, mingling kisses, + And exchanging harmless blisses: + He trembling cried, with eager haste, + O let me feed as well as taste, + I die, if I’m not wholly blest. + + [_After the song a dance of antics_.] + +SILV. Indeed it is very fine. I could look upon ’em all day. + +HEART. Well has this prevailed for me, and will you look upon me? + +SILV. If you could sing and dance so, I should love to look upon you +too. + +HEART. Why, ’twas I sung and danced; I gave music to the voice, and life +to their measures. Look you here, Silvia, [_pulling out a purse and +chinking it_] here are songs and dances, poetry and music—hark! how +sweetly one guinea rhymes to another—and how they dance to the music of +their own chink. This buys all t’other—and this thou shalt have; this, +and all that I am worth, for the purchase of thy love. Say, is it mine +then, ha? Speak, Syren—Oons, why do I look on her! Yet I must. Speak, +dear angel, devil, saint, witch; do not rack me with suspense. + +SILV. Nay, don’t stare at me so. You make me blush—I cannot look. + +HEART. O manhood, where art thou? What am I come to? A woman’s toy, at +these years! Death, a bearded baby for a girl to dandle. O dotage, +dotage! That ever that noble passion, lust, should ebb to this degree. +No reflux of vigorous blood: but milky love supplies the empty channels; +and prompts me to the softness of a child—a mere infant and would suck. +Can you love me, Silvia? Speak. + +SILV. I dare not speak until I believe you, and indeed I’m afraid to +believe you yet. + +HEART. Death, how her innocence torments and pleases me! Lying, child, +is indeed the art of love, and men are generally masters in it: but I’m +so newly entered, you cannot distrust me of any skill in the treacherous +mystery. Now, by my soul, I cannot lie, though it were to serve a friend +or gain a mistress. + +SILV. Must you lie, then, if you say you love me? + +HEART. No, no, dear ignorance, thou beauteous changeling—I tell thee I +do love thee, and tell it for a truth, a naked truth, which I’m ashamed +to discover. + +SILV. But love, they say, is a tender thing, that will smooth frowns, +and make calm an angry face; will soften a rugged temper, and make +ill-humoured people good. You look ready to fright one, and talk as if +your passion were not love, but anger. + +HEART. ’Tis both; for I am angry with myself when I am pleased with you. +And a pox upon me for loving thee so well—yet I must on. ’Tis a bearded +arrow, and will more easily be thrust forward than drawn back. + +SILV. Indeed, if I were well assured you loved; but how can I be well +assured? + +HEART. Take the symptoms—and ask all the tyrants of thy sex if their +fools are not known by this party-coloured livery. I am melancholic when +thou art absent; look like an ass when thou art present; wake for thee +when I should sleep; and even dream of thee when I am awake; sigh much, +drink little, eat less, court solitude, am grown very entertaining to +myself, and (as I am informed) very troublesome to everybody else. If +this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable. Nay, yet a +more certain sign than all this, I give thee my money. + +SILV. Ay, but that is no sign; for they say, gentlemen will give money +to any naughty woman to come to bed to them. O Gemini, I hope you don’t +mean so—for I won’t be a whore. + +HEART. The more is the pity. [_Aside_.] + +SILV. Nay, if you would marry me, you should not come to bed to me—you +have such a beard, and would so prickle one. But do you intend to marry +me? + +HEART. That a fool should ask such a malicious question! Death, I shall +be drawn in before I know where I am. However, I find I am pretty sure +of her consent, if I am put to it. [_Aside_.] Marry you? No, no, I’ll +love you. + +SILV. Nay, but if you love me, you must marry me. What, don’t I know my +father loved my mother and was married to her? + +HEART. Ay, ay, in old days people married where they loved; but that +fashion is changed, child. + +SILV. Never tell me that; I know it is not changed by myself: for I love +you, and would marry you. + +HEART. I’ll have my beard shaved, it sha’n’t hurt thee, and we’ll go to +bed— + +SILV. No, no, I’m not such a fool neither, but I can keep myself honest. +Here, I won’t keep anything that’s yours; I hate you now, [_throws the +purse_] and I’ll never see you again, ’cause you’d have me be naught. +[_Going_.] + +HEART. Damn her, let her go, and a good riddance. Yet so much +tenderness and beauty and honesty together is a jewel. Stay, Silvia—But +then to marry; why, every man plays the fool once in his life. But to +marry is playing the fool all one’s life long. + +SILV. What did you call me for? + +HEART. I’ll give thee all I have, and thou shalt live with me in +everything so like my wife, the world shall believe it. Nay, thou shalt +think so thyself—only let me not think so. + +SILV. No, I’ll die before I’ll be your whore—as well as I love you. + +HEART. [_Aside_.] A woman, and ignorant, may be honest, when ’tis out +of obstinacy and contradiction. But, s’death, it is but a may be, and +upon scurvy terms. Well, farewell then—if I can get out of sight I may +get the better of myself. + +SILV. Well—good-bye. [_Turns and weeps_.] + +HEART. Ha! Nay, come, we’ll kiss at parting. [_Kisses her_.] By +heaven, her kiss is sweeter than liberty. I will marry thee. There, +thou hast done’t. All my resolves melted in that kiss—one more. + +SILV. But when? + +HEART. I’m impatient until it be done; I will not give myself liberty to +think, lest I should cool. I will about a licence straight—in the +evening expect me. One kiss more to confirm me mad; so. + +SILV. Ha, ha, ha, an old fox trapped— + + + +SCENE XI. + + + [_To her_] LUCY. + +Bless me! you frighted me; I thought he had been come again, and had +heard me. + +LUCY. Lord, madam, I met your lover in as much haste as if he had been +going for a midwife. + +SILV. He’s going for a parson, girl, the forerunner of a midwife, some +nine months hence. Well, I find dissembling to our sex is as natural as +swimming to a negro; we may depend upon our skill to save us at a plunge, +though till then, we never make the experiment. But how hast thou +succeeded? + +LUCY. As you would wish—since there is no reclaiming Vainlove. I have +found out a pique she has taken at him, and have framed a letter that +makes her sue for reconciliation first. I know that will do—walk in and +I’ll show it you. Come, madam, you’re like to have a happy time on’t; +both your love and anger satisfied! All that can charm our sex conspire +to please you. + + That woman sure enjoys a blessed night, + Whom love and vengeance both at once delight. + + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I. + + + SCENE: _The Street_. + + BELLMOUR, _in fanatic habit_, SETTER. + +BELL. ’Tis pretty near the hour. [_Looking on his watch_.] Well, and +how, Setter, hae, does my hypocrisy fit me, hae? Does it sit easy on me? + +SET. Oh, most religiously well, sir. + +BELL. I wonder why all our young fellows should glory in an opinion of +atheism, when they may be so much more conveniently lewd under the +coverlet of religion. + +SET. S’bud, sir, away quickly: there’s Fondlewife just turned the +corner, and ’s coming this way. + +BELL. Gad’s so, there he is: he must not see me. + + + +SCENE II. + + + FONDLEWIFE, BARNABY. + +FOND. I say I will tarry at home. + +BAR. But, sir. + +FOND. Good lack! I profess the spirit of contradiction hath possessed +the lad—I say I will tarry at home, varlet. + +BAR. I have done, sir; then farewell five hundred pound. + +FOND. Ha, how’s that? Stay, stay, did you leave word, say you, with his +wife? With Comfort herself? + +BAR. I did; and Comfort will send Tribulation hither as soon as ever he +comes home. I could have brought young Mr. Prig to have kept my mistress +company in the meantime. But you say— + +FOND. How, how, say, varlet! I say let him not come near my doors. I +say, he is a wanton young Levite, and pampereth himself up with dainties, +that he may look lovely in the eyes of women. Sincerely, I am afraid he +hath already defiled the tabernacle of our sister Comfort; while her good +husband is deluded by his godly appearance. I say that even lust doth +sparkle in his eyes and glow upon his cheeks, and that I would as soon +trust my wife with a lord’s high-fed chaplain. + +BAR. Sir, the hour draws nigh, and nothing will be done here until you +come. + +FOND. And nothing can be done here until I go; so that I’ll tarry, de’e +see. + +BAR. And run the hazard to lose your affair, sir! + +FOND. Good lack, good lack—I profess it is a very sufficient vexation +for a man to have a handsome wife. + +BAR. Never, sir, but when the man is an insufficient husband. ’Tis +then, indeed, like the vanity of taking a fine house, and yet be forced +to let lodgings to help pay the rent. + +FOND. I profess a very apt comparison, varlet. Go and bid my Cocky come +out to me; I will give her some instructions, I will reason with her +before I go. + + + +SCENE III. + + + FONDLEWIFE _alone_. + +And in the meantime I will reason with myself. Tell me, Isaac, why art +thee jealous? Why art thee distrustful of the wife of thy bosom? +Because she is young and vigorous, and I am old and impotent. Then why +didst thee marry, Isaac? Because she was beautiful and tempting, and +because I was obstinate and doting; so that my inclination was (and is +still) greater than my power. And will not that which tempted thee, also +tempt others, who will tempt her, Isaac? I fear it much. But does not +thy wife love thee, nay, dote upon thee? Yes. Why then! Ay, but to say +truth, she’s fonder of me than she has reason to be; and in the way of +trade, we still suspect the smoothest dealers of the deepest designs. +And that she has some designs deeper than thou canst reach, thou hast +experimented, Isaac. But, mum. + + + +SCENE IV. + + + FONDLEWIFE, LÆTITIA. + +LÆT. I hope my dearest jewel is not going to leave me—are you, Nykin? + +FOND. Wife—have you thoroughly considered how detestable, how heinous, +and how crying a sin the sin of adultery is? Have you weighed it, I say? +For it is a very weighty sin; and although it may lie heavy upon thee, +yet thy husband must also bear his part. For thy iniquity will fall upon +his head. + +LÆT. Bless me, what means my dear? + +FOND. [_Aside_.] I profess she has an alluring eye; I am doubtful +whether I shall trust her, even with Tribulation himself. Speak, I say, +have you considered what it is to cuckold your husband? + +LÆT. [_Aside_.] I’m amazed. Sure he has discovered nothing. Who has +wronged me to my dearest? I hope my jewel does not think that ever I had +any such thing in my head, or ever will have. + +FOND. No, no, I tell you I shall have it in my head— + +LÆT. [_Aside_.] I know not what to think. But I’m resolved to find the +meaning of it. Unkind dear! Was it for this you sent to call me? Is it +not affliction enough that you are to leave me, but you must study to +increase it by unjust suspicions? [_Crying_.] Well—well—you know my +fondness, and you love to tyrannise—Go on, cruel man, do: triumph over my +poor heart while it holds, which cannot be long, with this usage of +yours. But that’s what you want. Well, you will have your ends soon. +You will—you will. Yes, it will break to oblige you. [_Sighs_.] + +FOND. Verily, I fear I have carried the jest too far. Nay, look you now +if she does not weep—’tis the fondest fool. Nay, Cocky, Cocky, nay, dear +Cocky, don’t cry, I was but in jest, I was not, ifeck. + +LÆT. [_Aside_.] Oh then, all’s safe. I was terribly frighted. My +affliction is always your jest, barbarous man! Oh, that I should love to +this degree! Yet— + +FOND. Nay, Cocky. + +LÆT. No, no, you are weary of me, that’s it—that’s all, you would get +another wife—another fond fool, to break her heart—Well, be as cruel as +you can to me, I’ll pray for you; and when I am dead with grief, may you +have one that will love you as well as I have done: I shall be contented +to lie at peace in my cold grave—since it will please you. [_Sighs_.] + +FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of oak—I profess I +can hold no longer. Nay, dear Cocky—ifeck, you’ll break my heart—ifeck +you will. See, you have made me weep—made poor Nykin weep. Nay, come +kiss, buss poor Nykin—and I won’t leave thee—I’ll lose all first. + +LÆT. [_Aside_.] How! Heaven forbid! that will be carrying the jest too +far indeed. + +FOND. Won’t you kiss Nykin? + +LÆT. Go, naughty Nykin, you don’t love me. + +FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do. + +LÆT. No, you don’t. [_She kisses him_.] + +FOND. What, not love Cocky! + +LÆT. No-h. [_Sighs_.] + +FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred pound—and so +thou shalt say, for I’ll leave it to stay with thee. + +LÆT. No you sha’n’t neglect your business for me. No, indeed, you +sha’n’t, Nykin. If you don’t go, I’ll think you been dealous of me +still. + +FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I will go, I won’t be +dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here will be +the good man anon, to talk to Cocky and teach her how a wife ought to +behave herself. + +LÆT. [_Aside_.] I hope to have one that will show me how a husband +ought to behave himself. I shall be glad to learn, to please my jewel. +[_Kiss_.] + +FOND. That’s my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin once more, and then get you +in. So—get you in, get you in. Bye, bye. + +LÆT. Bye, Nykin. + +FOND. Bye, Cocky. + +LÆT. Bye, Nykin. + +FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye. + + + +SCENE V. + + + VAINLOVE, SHARPER. + +SHARP. How! Araminta lost! + +VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. [_Gives a letter_.] + +SHARP. [_Reads_.] Hum, hum! And what then appeared a fault, upon +reflection seems only an effect of a too powerful passion. I’m afraid I +give too great a proof of my own at this time. I am in disorder for what +I have written. But something, I know not what, forced me. I only beg a +favourable censure of this and your ARAMINTA. + +SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy wits. Here, here, +she’s thy own, man, signed and sealed too. To her, man—a delicious +melon, pure and consenting ripe, and only waits thy cutting up: she has +been breeding love to thee all this while, and just now she’s delivered +of it. + +VAIN. ’Tis an untimely fruit, and she has miscarried of her love. + +SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, Frank? Thou hast a +sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love and cannot digest it. + +VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be crammed. By heaven, +there’s not a woman will give a man the pleasure of a chase: my sport is +always balked or cut short. I stumble over the game I would pursue. +’Tis dull and unnatural to have a hare run full in the hounds’ mouth, and +would distaste the keenest hunter. I would have overtaken, not have met, +my game. + +SHARP. However, I hope you don’t mean to forsake it; that will be but a +kind of mongrel cur’s trick. Well, are you for the Mall? + +VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I will go too, and she +shall see her error in— + +SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be so great a brute as +to slight her. + +VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her management I should +think she expects it. + + All naturally fly what does pursue: + ’Tis fit men should be coy when women woo. + + + +SCENE VI. + + + _A Room in Fondlewife’s House_. + +A SERVANT _introducing_ BELLMOUR, _in fanatic habit_, _with a patch upon +one eye and a book in his hand_. + +SERV. Here’s a chair, sir, if you please to repose yourself. My +mistress is coming, sir. + +BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion and even dared +discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and trusty Scarron’s novels my +prayer-book; methinks I am the very picture of Montufar in the +Hypocrites. Oh! she comes. + + + +SCENE VII. + + + BELLMOUR, LÆTITIA. + + So breaks Aurora through the veil of night, + Thus fly the clouds, divided by her light, + And every eye receives a new-born sight. + [_Throwing off his cloak_, _patch_, _etc._] + +LÆT. Thus strewed with blushes, like—Ah! Heaven defend me! Who’s this? +[_Discovering him_, _starts_.] + +BELL. Your lover. + +LÆT. Vainlove’s friend! I know his face, and he has betrayed me to him. +[_Aside_.] + +BELL. You are surprised. Did you not expect a lover, madam? Those eyes +shone kindly on my first appearance, though now they are o’ercast. + +LÆT. I may well be surprised at your person and impudence: they are both +new to me. You are not what your first appearance promised: the piety of +your habit was welcome, but not the hypocrisy. + +BELL. Rather the hypocrisy was welcome, but not the hypocrite. + +LÆT. Who are you, sir? You have mistaken the house sure. + +BELL. I have directions in my pocket which agree with everything but +your unkindness. [_Pulls out the letter_.] + +LÆT. My letter! Base Vainlove! Then ’tis too late to dissemble. +[_Aside_.] ’Tis plain, then, you have mistaken the person. [_Going_.] + +BELL. If we part so I’m mistaken. Hold, hold, madam! I confess I have +run into an error. I beg your pardon a thousand times. What an eternal +blockhead am I! Can you forgive me the disorder I have put you into? +But it is a mistake which anybody might have made. + +LÆT. What can this mean? ’Tis impossible he should be mistaken after +all this. A handsome fellow if he had not surprised me. Methinks, now I +look on him again, I would not have him mistaken. [_Aside_.] We are all +liable to mistakes, sir. If you own it to be so, there needs no farther +apology. + +BELL. Nay, faith, madam, ’tis a pleasant one, and worth your hearing. +Expecting a friend last night, at his lodgings, till ’twas late, my +intimacy with him gave me the freedom of his bed. He not coming home all +night, a letter was delivered to me by a servant in the morning. Upon +the perusal I found the contents so charming that I could think of +nothing all day but putting ’em in practice, until just now, the first +time I ever looked upon the superscription, I am the most surprised in +the world to find it directed to Mr. Vainlove. Gad, madam, I ask you a +million of pardons, and will make you any satisfaction. + +LÆT. I am discovered. And either Vainlove is not guilty, or he has +handsomely excused him. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. You appear concerned, madam. + +LÆT. I hope you are a gentleman;—and since you are privy to a weak +woman’s failing, won’t turn it to the prejudice of her reputation. You +look as if you had more honour— + +BELL. And more love, or my face is a false witness and deserves to be +pilloried. No, by heaven, I swear— + +LÆT. Nay, don’t swear if you’d have me believe you; but promise— + +BELL. Well, I promise. A promise is so cold: give me leave to swear, by +those eyes, those killing eyes, by those healing lips. Oh! press the +soft charm close to mine, and seal ’em up for ever. + +LÆT. Upon that condition. [_He kisses her_.] + +BELL. Eternity was in that moment. One more, upon any condition! + +LÆT. Nay, now—I never saw anything so agreeably impudent. [_Aside_.] +Won’t you censure me for this, now?—but ’tis to buy your silence. +[_Kiss_.] Oh, but what am I doing! + +BELL. Doing! No tongue can express it—not thy own, nor anything, but +thy lips. I am faint with the excess of bliss. Oh, for love-sake, lead +me anywhither, where I may lie down—quickly, for I’m afraid I shall have +a fit. + +LÆT. Bless me! What fit? + +BELL. Oh, a convulsion—I feel the symptoms. + +LÆT. Does it hold you long? I’m afraid to carry you into my chamber. + +BELL. Oh, no: let me lie down upon the bed; the fit will be soon over. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + + SCENE: _St. James’s Park_. + + ARAMINTA _and_ BELINDA _meeting_. + +BELIN. Lard, my dear, I am glad I have met you; I have been at the +Exchange since, and am so tired— + +ARAM. Why, what’s the matter? + +BELIN. Oh the most inhuman, barbarous hackney-coach! I am jolted to a +jelly. Am I not horribly touzed? [_Pulls out a pocket-glass_.] + +ARAM. Your head’s a little out of order. + +BELIN. A little! O frightful! What a furious phiz I have! O most +rueful! Ha, ha, ha. O Gad, I hope nobody will come this way, till I +have put myself a little in repair. Ah! my dear, I have seen such unhewn +creatures since. Ha, ha, ha. I can’t for my soul help thinking that I +look just like one of ’em. Good dear, pin this, and I’ll tell you—very +well—so, thank you, my dear—but as I was telling you—pish, this is the +untowardest lock—so, as I was telling you—how d’ye like me now? Hideous, +ha? Frightful still? Or how? + +ARAM. No, no; you’re very well as can be. + +BELIN. And so—but where did I leave off, my dear? I was telling you— + +ARAM. You were about to tell me something, child, but you left off +before you began. + +BELIN. Oh; a most comical sight: a country squire, with the equipage of +a wife and two daughters, came to Mrs. Snipwel’s shop while I was +there—but oh Gad! two such unlicked cubs! + +ARAM. I warrant, plump, cherry-cheeked country girls. + +BELIN. Ay, o’ my conscience, fat as barn-door fowl: but so bedecked, you +would have taken ’em for Friesland hens, with their feathers growing the +wrong way. O such outlandish creatures! Such Tramontanæ, and foreigners +to the fashion, or anything in practice! I had not patience to behold. +I undertook the modelling of one of their fronts, the more modern +structure— + +ARAM. Bless me, cousin; why would you affront anybody so? They might be +gentlewomen of a very good family— + +BELIN. Of a very ancient one, I dare swear, by their dress. Affront! +pshaw, how you’re mistaken! The poor creature, I warrant, was as full of +curtsies, as if I had been her godmother. The truth on’t is, I did +endeavour to make her look like a Christian—and she was sensible of it, +for she thanked me, and gave me two apples, piping hot, out of her +under-petticoat pocket. Ha, ha, ha: and t’other did so stare and gape, I +fancied her like the front of her father’s hall; her eyes were the two +jut-windows, and her mouth the great door, most hospitably kept open for +the entertainment of travelling flies. + +ARAM. So then, you have been diverted. What did they buy? + +BELIN. Why, the father bought a powder-horn, and an almanac, and a +comb-case; the mother, a great fruz-towr, and a fat amber necklace; the +daughters only tore two pairs of kid-leather gloves, with trying ’em on. +O Gad, here comes the fool that dined at my Lady Freelove’s t’other day. + + + +SCENE IX. + + + [_To them_] SIR JOSEPH _and_ BLUFFE. + +ARAM. May be he may not know us again. + +BELIN. We’ll put on our masks to secure his ignorance. [_They put on +their masks_.] + +SIR JO. Nay, Gad, I’ll pick up; I’m resolved to make a night on’t. I’ll +go to Alderman Fondlewife by and by, and get fifty pieces more from him. +Adslidikins, bully, we’ll wallow in wine and women. Why, this same +Madeira wine has made me as light as a grasshopper. Hist, hist, bully, +dost thou see those tearers? [_Sings_.] Look you what here is—look you +what here is—toll—loll—dera—toll—loll—agad, t’other glass of Madeira, and +I durst have attacked ’em in my own proper person, without your help. + +BLUFF. Come on then, knight. But do you know what to say to them? + +SIR JO. Say: pooh, pox, I’ve enough to say—never fear it—that is, if I +can but think on’t: truth is, I have but a treacherous memory. + +BELIN. O frightful! cousin, what shall we do? These things come towards +us. + +ARAM. No matter. I see Vainlove coming this way—and, to confess my +failing, I am willing to give him an opportunity of making his peace with +me—and to rid me of these coxcombs, when I seem opprest with ’em, will be +a fair one. + +BLUFF. Ladies, by these hilts you are well met. + +ARAM. We are afraid not. + +BLUFF. What says my pretty little knapsack carrier. [_To_ BELINDA.] + +BELIN. O monstrous filthy fellow! good slovenly Captain Huffe, Bluffe +(what is your hideous name?) be gone: you stink of brandy and tobacco, +most soldier-like. Foh. [_Spits_.] + +SIR JO. Now am I slap-dash down in the mouth, and have not one word to +say! [_Aside_.] + +ARAM. I hope my fool has not confidence enough to be troublesome. +[_Aside_.] + +SIR JO. Hem! Pray, madam, which way is the wind? + +ARAM. A pithy question. Have you sent your wits for a venture, sir, +that you enquire? + +SIR JO. Nay, now I’m in, I can prattle like a magpie. [_Aside_.] + + + +SCENE X. + + + [_To them_] SHARPER _and_ VAINLOVE _at some distance_. + +BELIN. Dear Araminta, I’m tired. + +ARAM. ’Tis but pulling off our masks, and obliging Vainlove to know us. +I’ll be rid of my fool by fair means.—Well, Sir Joseph, you shall see my +face; but, be gone immediately. I see one that will be jealous, to find +me in discourse with you. Be discreet. No reply; but away. +[_Unmasks_.] + +SIR JO. The great fortune, that dined at my Lady Freelove’s! Sir +Joseph, thou art a made man. Agad, I’m in love up to the ears. But I’ll +be discreet, and hushed. [_Aside_.] + +BLUFF. Nay, by the world, I’ll see your face. + +BELIN. You shall. [_Unmasks_.] + +SHARP. Ladies, your humble servant. We were afraid you would not have +given us leave to know you. + +ARAM. We thought to have been private. But we find fools have the same +advantage over a face in a mask that a coward has while the sword is in +the scabbard, so were forced to draw in our own defence. + +BLUFF. My blood rises at that fellow: I can’t stay where he is; and I +must not draw in the park. [_To_ SIR JOSEPH.] + +SIR JO. I wish I durst stay to let her know my lodging. + + + +SCENE XI. + + + ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, SHARPER. + +SHARP. There is in true beauty, as in courage, somewhat which narrow +souls cannot dare to admire. And see, the owls are fled, as at the break +of day. + +BELIN. Very courtly. I believe Mr. Vainlove has not rubbed his eyes +since break of day neither, he looks as if he durst not approach. Nay, +come, cousin, be friends with him. I swear he looks so very simply—ha, +ha, ha. Well, a lover in the state of separation from his mistress is +like a body without a soul. Mr. Vainlove, shall I be bound for your good +behaviour for the future? + +VAIN. Now must I pretend ignorance equal to hers, of what she knows as +well as I. [_Aside_.] Men are apt to offend (’tis true) where they find +most goodness to forgive. But, madam, I hope I shall prove of a temper +not to abuse mercy by committing new offences. + +ARAM. So cold! [_Aside_.] + +BELIN. I have broke the ice for you, Mr. Vainlove, and so I leave you. +Come, Mr. Sharper, you and I will take a turn, and laugh at the +vulgar—both the great vulgar and the small. O Gad! I have a great +passion for Cowley. Don’t you admire him? + +SHARP. Oh, madam! he was our English Horace. + +BELIN. Ah so fine! so extremely fine! So everything in the world that I +like—O Lord, walk this way—I see a couple; I’ll give you their history. + + + +SCENE XII. + + + ARAMINTA, VAINLOVE. + +VAIN. I find, madam, the formality of the law must be observed, though +the penalty of it be dispensed with, and an offender must plead to his +arraignment, though he has his pardon in his pocket. + +ARAM. I’m amazed! This insolence exceeds t’other; whoever has +encouraged you to this assurance, presuming upon the easiness of my +temper, has much deceived you, and so you shall find. + +VAIN. Hey day! Which way now? Here’s fine doubling. [_Aside_.] + +ARAM. Base man! Was it not enough to affront me with your saucy +passion? + +VAIN. You have given that passion a much kinder epithet than saucy, in +another place. + +ARAM. Another place! Some villainous design to blast my honour. But +though thou hadst all the treachery and malice of thy sex, thou canst not +lay a blemish on my fame. No, I have not erred in one favourable thought +of mankind. How time might have deceived me in you, I know not; my +opinion was but young, and your early baseness has prevented its growing +to a wrong belief. Unworthy and ungrateful! be gone, and never see me +more. + +VAIN. Did I dream? or do I dream? Shall I believe my eyes, or ears? +The vision is here still. Your passion, madam, will admit of no farther +reasoning; but here’s a silent witness of your acquaintance. [_Takes our +the letter_, _and offers it_: _she snatches it_, _and throws it away_.] + +ARAM. There’s poison in everything you touch. Blisters will follow— + +VAIN. That tongue, which denies what the hands have done. + +ARAM. Still mystically senseless and impudent; I find I must leave the +place. + +VAIN. No, madam, I’m gone. She knows her name’s to it, which she will +be unwilling to expose to the censure of the first finder. + +ARAM. Woman’s obstinacy made me blind to what woman’s curiosity now +tempts me to see. [_Takes up the letter_.] + + + +SCENE XIII. + + + BELINDA, SHARPER. + +BELIN. Nay, we have spared nobody, I swear. Mr. Sharper, you’re a pure +man; where did you get this excellent talent of railing? + +SHARP. Faith, madam, the talent was born with me:—I confess I have taken +care to improve it, to qualify me for the society of ladies. + +BELIN. Nay, sure, railing is the best qualification in a woman’s man. + + + +SCENE XIV. + + + [_To them_] FOOTMAN. + +SHARP. The second best, indeed, I think. + +BELIN. How now, Pace? Where’s my cousin? + +FOOT. She’s not very well, madam, and has sent to know if your ladyship +would have the coach come again for you? + +BELIN. O Lord, no, I’ll go along with her. Come, Mr. Sharper. + + + +SCENE XV. + + + SCENE: _A chamber in Fondlewife’s house_. + + LÆTITIA and BELLMOUR, his cloak, hat, etc., lying loose about the + chamber. + +BELL. Here’s nobody, nor no noise—’twas nothing but your fears. + +LÆT. I durst have sworn I had heard my monster’s voice. I swear I was +heartily frightened; feel how my heart beats. + +BELL. ’Tis an alarm to love—come in again, and let us— + +FOND. [_Without_.] Cocky, Cocky, where are you, Cocky? I’m come home. + +LÆT. Ah! There he is. Make haste, gather up your things. + +FOND. Cocky, Cocky, open the door. + +BELL. Pox choke him, would his horns were in his throat. My patch, my +patch. [_Looking about_, _and gathering up his things_.] + +LÆT. My jewel, art thou there?—No matter for your patch.—You s’an’t tum +in, Nykin—run into my chamber, quickly, quickly—You s’an’t tum in. + +FOND. Nay, prithee, dear, i’feck I’m in haste. + +LÆT. Then I’ll let you in. [_Opens the door_.] + + + +SCENE XVI. + + + LÆTITIA, FONDLEWIFE, SIR JOSEPH. + +FOND. Kiss, dear—I met the master of the ship by the way, and I must +have my papers of accounts out of your cabinet. + +LÆT. Oh, I’m undone! [_Aside_.] + +SIR JO. Pray, first let me have fifty pound, good Alderman, for I’m in +haste. + +FOND. A hundred has already been paid by your order. Fifty? I have the +sum ready in gold in my closet. + + + +SCENE XVII. + + + LÆTITIA, SIR JOSEPH. + +SIR JO. Agad, it’s a curious, fine, pretty rogue; I’ll speak to +her.—Pray, Madam, what news d’ye hear? + +LÆT. Sir, I seldom stir abroad. [_Walks about in disorder_.] + +SIR JO. I wonder at that, Madam, for ’tis most curious fine weather. + +LÆT. Methinks ’t has been very ill weather. + +SIR JO. As you say, madam, ’tis pretty bad weather, and has been so a +great while. + + + +SCENE XVIII. + + + [_To them_] FONDLEWIFE. + +FOND. Here are fifty pieces in this purse, Sir Joseph; if you will tarry +a moment, till I fetch my papers, I’ll wait upon you down-stairs. + +LÆT. Ruined, past redemption! what shall I do—ha! this fool may be of +use. (Aside.) [_As_ FONDLEWIFE _is going into the chamber_, _she runs +to_ SIR JOSEPH, _almost pushes him down_, _and cries out_.] Stand off, +rude ruffian. Help me, my dear. O bless me! Why will you leave me +alone with such a Satyr? + +FOND. Bless us! What’s the matter? What’s the matter? + +LÆT. Your back was no sooner turned, but like a lion he came open +mouthed upon me, and would have ravished a kiss from me by main force. + +SIR JO. O Lord! Oh, terrible! Ha, ha, ha. Is your wife mad, Alderman? + +LÆT. Oh! I’m sick with the fright; won’t you take him out of my sight? + +FOND. O traitor! I’m astonished. O bloody-minded traitor! + +SIR JO. Hey-day! Traitor yourself. By the Lord Harry, I was in most +danger of being ravished, if you go to that. + +FOND. Oh, how the blasphemous wretch swears! Out of my house, thou son +of the whore of Babylon; offspring of Bel and the Dragon.—Bless us! +ravish my wife! my Dinah! Oh, Shechemite! Begone, I say. + +SIR JO. Why, the devil’s in the people, I think. + + + +SCENE XIX. + + + LÆTITIA, FONDLEWIFE. + +LÆT. Oh! won’t you follow, and see him out of doors, my dear? + +FOND. I’ll shut this door to secure him from coming back—Give me the key +of your cabinet, Cocky. Ravish my wife before my face? I warrant he’s a +Papist in his heart at least, if not a Frenchman. + +LÆT. What can I do now! (Aside.) Oh! my dear, I have been in such a +fright, that I forgot to tell you, poor Mr. Spintext has a sad fit of the +colic, and is forced to lie down upon our bed—you’ll disturb him; I can +tread softlier. + +FOND. Alack, poor man—no, no—you don’t know the papers—I won’t disturb +him; give me the key. [_She gives him the key_, _goes to the chamber +door and speaks aloud_.] + +LÆT. ’Tis nobody but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. Spintext, lie still on your +stomach; lying on your stomach will ease you of the colic. + +FOND. Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don’t let me disturb you. + + + +SCENE XX. + + + LÆTITIA _alone_. + +LÆT. Sure, when he does not see his face, he won’t discover him. Dear +fortune, help me but this once, and I’ll never run in thy debt again. +But this opportunity is the Devil. + + + +SCENE XXI. + + + FONDLEWIFE _returns with Papers_. + +FOND. Good lack! good lack! I profess the poor man is in great torment; +he lies as flat—Dear, you should heat a trencher, or a napkin.—Where’s +Deborah? Let her clap some warm thing to his stomach, or chafe it with a +warm hand rather than fail. What book’s this? [_Sees the book that_ +BELLMOUR _forgot_.] + +LÆT. Mr. Spintext’s prayer-book, dear. Pray Heaven it be a prayer-book. +[_Aside_.] + +FOND. Good man! I warrant he dropped it on purpose that you might take +it up and read some of the pious ejaculations. [_Taking up the book_.] +O bless me! O monstrous! A prayer-book? Ay, this is the devil’s +paternoster. Hold, let me see: The Innocent Adultery. + +LÆT. Misfortune! now all’s ruined again. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. [_Peeping_]. Damned chance! If I had gone a-whoring with the +Practice of Piety in my pocket I had never been discovered. + +FOND. Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! Here’s doctrine! Ay, here’s +discipline! + +LÆT. Dear husband, I’m amazed. Sure it is a good book, and only tends +to the speculation of sin. + +FOND. Speculation! No no; something went farther than speculation when +I was not to be let in.—Where is this apocryphal elder? I’ll ferret him. + +LÆT. I’m so distracted, I can’t think of a lie. [_Aside_.] + + + +SCENE XXII. + + + LÆTITIA _and_ FONDLEWIFE _haling out_ BELLMOUR. + +FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, how now! Who have we +here? + +LÆT. Ha! [_Shrieks as surprised_.] + +FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then brutified? Ay, I feel it +here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, I am ripe-horn-mad. But who in the +devil’s name are you? Mercy on me for swearing. But— + +LÆT. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are you? What are you? + +BELL. Soh! + +LÆT. In the name of the—O! Good, my dear, don’t come near it; I’m +afraid ’tis the devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear. + +FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, no, I am afraid ’tis +the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, with the pox. Come Syren, speak, confess, +who is this reverend, brawny pastor. + +LÆT. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I never saw this wicked man +before. + +FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems. + +LÆT. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of a sheep. + +FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper clothing—woman’s flesh. What, you +know nothing of him, but his fleece here! You don’t love mutton? you +Magdalen unconverted. + +BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.—That is, very honourably to excuse her, +and very impudently accuse myself. [_Aside_.] + +LÆT. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the heaven of your embraces +again, my dear, if ever I saw his face before. + +FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration of your impudence. Look +at him a little better; he is more modest, I warrant you, than to deny +it. Come, were you two never face to face before? Speak. + +BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think myself obliged to speak +the truth in justice to your wife.—No. + +FOND. Humph. + +LÆT. No, indeed, dear. + +FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must confess. But, +what—not to be cured of the colic? Don’t you know your patient, Mrs. +Quack? Oh, ‘lie upon your stomach; lying upon your stomach will cure you +of the colic.’ Ah! answer me, Jezebel? + +LÆT. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does he think I have nothing +to do but excuse him? ’tis enough if I can clear my own innocence to my +own dear. + +BELL. By my troth, and so ’tis. I have been a little too backward; +that’s the truth on’t. + +FOND. Come, sir, who are you, in the first place? And what are you? + +BELL. A whore-master. + +FOND. Very concise. + +LÆT. O beastly, impudent creature. + +FOND. Well, sir, and what came you hither for? + +BELL. To lie with your wife. + +FOND. Good again. A very civil person this, and I believe speaks truth. + +LÆT. Oh, insupportable impudence. + +FOND. Well, sir; pray be covered—and you have—Heh! You have finished +the matter, heh? And I am, as I should be, a sort of civil perquisite to +a whore-master, called a cuckold, heh? Is it not so? Come, I’m +inclining to believe every word you say. + +BELL. Why, faith, I must confess, so I designed you; but you were a +little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindered the making of your own +fortune. + +FOND. Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once and go back of your word +you are not the person I took you for. Come, come, go on boldly.—What, +don’t be ashamed of your profession.—Confess, confess; I shall love thee +the better for’t. I shall, i’feck. What, dost think I don’t know how to +behave myself in the employment of a cuckold, and have been three years +apprentice to matrimony? Come, come; plain dealing is a jewel. + +BELL. Well, since I see thou art a good, honest fellow, I’ll confess the +whole matter to thee. + +FOND. Oh, I am a very honest fellow. You never lay with an honester +man’s wife in your life. + +LÆT. How my heart aches! All my comfort lies in his impudence, and +heaven be praised, he has a considerable portion. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. In short, then, I was informed of the opportunity of your absence +by my spy (for faith, honest Isaac, I have a long time designed thee this +favour). I knew Spintext was to come by your direction. But I laid a +trap for him, and procured his habit, in which I passed upon your +servants, and was conducted hither. I pretended a fit of the colic, to +excuse my lying down upon your bed; hoping that when she heard of it, her +good nature would bring her to administer remedies for my distemper. You +know what might have followed. But, like an uncivil person, you knocked +at the door before your wife was come to me. + +FOND. Ha! This is apocryphal; I may choose whether I will believe it or +no. + +BELL. That you may, faith, and I hope you won’t believe a word on’t—but +I can’t help telling the truth, for my life. + +FOND. How! would not you have me believe you, say you? + +BELL. No; for then you must of consequence part with your wife, and +there will be some hopes of having her upon the public; then the +encouragement of a separate maintenance— + +FOND. No, no; for that matter, when she and I part, she’ll carry her +separate maintenance about her. + +LÆT. Ah, cruel dear, how can you be so barbarous? You’ll break my +heart, if you talk of parting. [_Cries_.] + +FOND. Ah, dissembling vermin! + +BELL. How can’st thou be so cruel, Isaac? Thou hast the heart of a +mountain-tiger. By the faith of a sincere sinner, she’s innocent for me. +Go to him, madam, fling your snowy arms about his stubborn neck; bathe +his relentless face in your salt trickling tears. [_She goes and hangs +upon his neck_, _and kisses him_. BELLMOUR _kisses her hand behind_ +FONDLEWIFE’S _back_.] So, a few soft words, and a kiss, and the good man +melts. See how kind nature works, and boils over in him. + +LÆT. Indeed, my dear, I was but just come down stairs, when you knocked +at the door; and the maid told me Mr. Spintext was ill of the colic upon +our bed. And won’t you speak to me, cruel Nykin? Indeed, I’ll die, if +you don’t. + +FOND. Ah! No, no, I cannot speak, my heart’s so full—I have been a +tender husband, a tender yoke-fellow; you know I have.—But thou hast been +a faithless Delilah, and the Philistines—Heh! Art thou not vile and +unclean, heh? Speak. [_Weeping_.] + +LÆT. No-h. [_Sighing_.] + +FOND. Oh that I could believe thee! + +LÆT. Oh, my heart will break. [_Seeming to faint_.] + +FOND. Heh, how! No, stay, stay, I will believe thee, I will. Pray bend +her forward, sir. + +LÆT. Oh! oh! Where is my dear? + +FOND. Here, here; I do believe thee. I won’t believe my own eyes. + +BELL. For my part, I am so charmed with the love of your turtle to you, +that I’ll go and solicit matrimony with all my might and main. + +FOND. Well, well, sir; as long as I believe it, ’tis well enough. No +thanks to you, sir, for her virtue.—But, I’ll show you the way out of my +house, if you please. Come, my dear. Nay, I will believe thee, I do, +i’feck. + +BELL. See the great blessing of an easy faith; opinion cannot err. + + No husband, by his wife, can be deceived; + She still is virtuous, if she’s so believed. + + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. + + + SCENE: _The Street_. + + BELLMOUR _in fanatic habit_, SETTER, HEARTWELL, LUCY. + +BELL. Setter! Well encountered. + +SET. Joy of your return, sir. Have you made a good voyage? or have you +brought your own lading back? + +BELL. No, I have brought nothing but ballast back—made a delicious +voyage, Setter; and might have rode at anchor in the port till this time, +but the enemy surprised us—I would unrig. + +SET. I attend you, sir. + +BELL. Ha! Is it not that Heartwell at Sylvia’s door? Be gone quickly, +I’ll follow you—I would not be known. Pox take ’em, they stand just in +my way. + + + +SCENE II. + + + BELLMOUR, HEARTWELL, LUCY. + +HEART. I’m impatient till it be done. + +LUCY. That may be, without troubling yourself to go again for your +brother’s chaplain. Don’t you see that stalking form of godliness? + +HEART. O ay; he’s a fanatic. + +LUCY. An executioner qualified to do your business. He has been +lawfully ordained. + +HEART. I’ll pay him well, if you’ll break the matter to him. + +LUCY. I warrant you.—Do you go and prepare your bride. + + + +SCENE III. + + + BELLMOUR, LUCY. + +BELL. Humph, sits the wind there? What a lucky rogue am I! Oh, what +sport will be here, if I can persuade this wench to secrecy! + +LUCY. Sir: reverend sir. + +BELL. Madam. [_Discovers himself_.] + +LUCY. Now, goodness have mercy upon me! Mr. Bellmour! is it you? + +BELL. Even I. What dost think? + +LUCY. Think! That I should not believe my eyes, and that you are not +what you seem to be. + +BELL. True. But to convince thee who I am, thou knowest my old token. +[_Kisses her_.] + +LUCY. Nay, Mr. Bellmour: O Lard! I believe you are a parson in good +earnest, you kiss so devoutly. + +BELL. Well, your business with me, Lucy? + +LUCY. I had none, but through mistake. + +BELL. Which mistake you must go through with, Lucy. Come, I know the +intrigue between Heartwell and your mistress; and you mistook me for +Tribulation Spintext, to marry ’em—Ha? are not matters in this posture? +Confess: come, I’ll be faithful; I will, i’faith. What! diffide in me, +Lucy? + +LUCY. Alas-a-day! You and Mr. Vainlove, between you, have ruined my +poor mistress: you have made a gap in her reputation; and can you blame +her if she make it up with a husband? + +BELL. Well, is it as I say? + +LUCY. Well, it is then: but you’ll be secret? + +BELL. Phuh, secret, ay. And to be out of thy debt, I’ll trust thee with +another secret. Your mistress must not marry Heartwell, Lucy. + +LUCY. How! O Lord! + +BELL. Nay, don’t be in passion, Lucy:—I’ll provide a fitter husband for +her. Come, here’s earnest of my good intentions for thee too; let this +mollify. [_Gives her money_.] Look you, Heartwell is my friend; and +though he be blind, I must not see him fall into the snare, and +unwittingly marry a whore. + +LUCY. Whore! I’d have you to know my mistress scorns— + +BELL. Nay, nay: look you, Lucy; there are whores of as good quality. +But to the purpose, if you will give me leave to acquaint you with it. +Do you carry on the mistake of me: I’ll marry ’em. Nay, don’t pause; if +you do, I’ll spoil all. I have some private reasons for what I do, which +I’ll tell you within. In the meantime, I promise—and rely upon me—to +help your mistress to a husband: nay, and thee too, Lucy. Here’s my +hand, I will; with a fresh assurance. [_Gives her more money_.] + +LUCY. Ah, the devil is not so cunning. You know my easy nature. Well, +for once I’ll venture to serve you; but if you do deceive me, the curse +of all kind, tender-hearted women light upon you! + +BELL. That’s as much as to say, the pox take me. Well, lead on. + + + +SCENE IV. + + + VAINLOVE, SHARPER, _and_ SETTER. + +SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy? + +SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you found me, and +overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry ’em. + +SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. I’ll plague Heartwell when +I see him. Prithee, Frank, let’s tease him; make him fret till he foam +at the mouth, and disgorge his matrimonial oath with interest. Come, +thou’rt musty— + +SET. [_To_ SHARPER.] Sir, a word with you. [_Whispers him_.] + +VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the letter—I’m sure he tells me +truth;—but I’m not sure she told him truth: yet she was unaffectedly +concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and surprise: and so I +remember in the park. She had reason, if I wrong her. I begin to doubt. + +SHARP. Say’st thou so? + +SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master received the +letter. + +SHARP. In my conscience, like enough. + +SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I’m sure I can fish it out of her: +she’s the very sluice to her lady’s secrets: ’tis but setting her mill +agoing, and I can drain her of ’em all. + +SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the fault: this letter, +that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; only a trick of Sylvia in +revenge, contrived by Lucy. + +VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, sirrah? + +SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was pumping me about +how your worship’s affairs stood towards Madam Araminta; as, when you had +seen her last? when you were to see her next? and, where you were to be +found at that time? and such like. + +VAIN. And where did you tell her? + +SET. In the Piazza. + +VAIN. There I received the letter—it must be so—and why did you not find +me out, to tell me this before, sot? + +SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour. + +SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no objection to the +excuse. + +VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity—if I have lost her, I deserve it. But +if confession and repentance be of force, I’ll win her, or weary her into +a forgiveness. + +SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth. + + + +SCENE V. + + + SHARPER, BELLMOUR, SETTER. + +SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes. + +SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous mischief—no real fanatic can +look better pleased after a successful sermon of sedition. + +BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a jest! Speak when thou art +ready. + +SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly disappoint thy mirth: +hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much gravity as a bishop hears +venereal causes in the spiritual court. Not so much as wrinkle my face +with one smile; but let thee look simply, and laugh by thyself. + +BELL. Pshaw, no; I have a better opinion of thy wit. Gad, I defy thee. + +SHARP. Were it not loss of time you should make the experiment. But +honest Setter, here, overheard you with Lucy, and has told me all. + +BELL. Nay, then, I thank thee for not putting me out of countenance. +But, to tell you something you don’t know. I got an opportunity after I +had married ’em, of discovering the cheat to Sylvia. She took it at +first, as another woman would the like disappointment; but my promise to +make her amends quickly with another husband somewhat pacified her. + +SHARP. But how the devil do you think to acquit yourself of your +promise? Will you marry her yourself? + +BELL. I have no such intentions at present. Prithee, wilt thou think a +little for me? I am sure the ingenious Mr. Setter will assist. + +SET. O Lord, sir! + +BELL. I’ll leave him with you, and go shift my habit. + + + +SCENE VI. + + + SHARPER, SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, and BLUFFE. + +SHARP. Heh! Sure fortune has sent this fool hither on purpose. Setter, +stand close; seem not to observe ’em; and, hark ye. [_Whispers_.] + +BLUFF. Fear him not. I am prepared for him now, and he shall find he +might have safer roused a sleeping lion. + +SIR JO. Hush, hush! don’t you see him? + +BLUFF. Show him to me. Where is he? + +SIR JO. Nay, don’t speak so loud. I don’t jest as I did a little while +ago. Look yonder! Agad, if he should hear the lion roar, he’d cudgel +him into an ass, and his primitive braying. Don’t you remember the story +in Æsop’s Fables, bully? Agad, there are good morals to be picked out of +Æsop’s Fables, let me tell you that, and Reynard the Fox too. + +BLUFF. Damn your morals. + +SIR JO. Prithee, don’t speak so loud. + +BLUFF. Damn your morals; I must revenge the affront done to my honour. +[_In a low voice_.] + +SIR JO. Ay; do, do, captain, if you think fitting. You may dispose of +your own flesh as you think fitting, d’ye see, but, by the Lord Harry, +I’ll leave you. [_Stealing away upon his tip-toes_.] + +BLUFF. Prodigious! What, will you forsake your friend in extremity? +You can’t in honour refuse to carry him a challenge. [_Almost +whispering_, _and treading softly after him_.] + +SIR JO. Prithee, what do you see in my face that looks as if I would +carry a challenge? Honour is your province, captain; take it. All the +world know me to be a knight, and a man of worship. + +SET. I warrant you, sir, I’m instructed. + +SHARP. Impossible! Araminta take a liking to a fool? [_Aloud_.] + +SET. Her head runs on nothing else, nor she can talk of nothing else. + +SHARP. I know she commanded him all the while we were in the Park; but I +thought it had been only to make Vainlove jealous. + +SIR JO. How’s this! Good bully, hold your breath and let’s hearken. +Agad, this must be I. + +SHARP. Death, it can’t be. An oaf, an idiot, a wittal. + +SIR JO. Ay, now it’s out; ’tis I, my own individual person. + +SHARP. A wretch that has flown for shelter to the lowest shrub of +mankind, and seeks protection from a blasted coward. + +SIR JO. That’s you, bully back. [BLUFFE _frowns upon_ SIR JOSEPH.] + +SHARP. She has given Vainlove her promise to marry him before to-morrow +morning. Has she not? [_To_ SETTER.] + +SET. She has, sir; and I have it in charge to attend her all this +evening, in order to conduct her to the place appointed. + +SHARP. Well, I’ll go and inform your master; and do you press her to +make all the haste imaginable. + + + +SCENE VII. + + + SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. + +SET. Were I a rogue now, what a noble prize could I dispose of! A +goodly pinnace, richly laden, and to launch forth under my auspicious +convoy. Twelve thousand pounds and all her rigging, besides what lies +concealed under hatches. Ha! all this committed to my care! Avaunt, +temptation! Setter, show thyself a person of worth; be true to thy +trust, and be reputed honest. Reputed honest! Hum: is that all? Ay; +for to be honest is nothing; the reputation of it is all. Reputation! +what have such poor rogues as I to do with reputation? ’tis above us; and +for men of quality, they are above it; so that reputation is even as +foolish a thing as honesty. And, for my part, if I meet Sir Joseph with +a purse of gold in his hand, I’ll dispose of mine to the best advantage. + +SIR JO. Heh, heh, heh: Here ’tis for you, i’faith, Mr. Setter. Nay, +I’ll take you at your word. [_Chinking a purse_.] + +SET. Sir Joseph and the captain, too! undone! undone! I’m undone, my +master’s undone, my lady’s undone, and all the business is undone. + +SIR JO. No, no; never fear, man; the lady’s business shall be done. +What, come, Mr. Setter, I have overheard all, and to speak is but loss of +time; but if there be occasion, let these worthy gentlemen intercede for +me. [_Gives him gold_.] + +SET. O lord, sir, what d’ye mean? Corrupt my honesty? They have indeed +very persuading faces. But— + +SIR JO. ’Tis too little, there’s more, man. There, take all. Now— + +SET. Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with you— + +SIR JO. And how, and how, good Setter, did the little rogue look when +she talked of Sir Joseph? Did not her eyes twinkle and her mouth water? +Did not she pull up her little bubbies? And—agad, I’m so overjoyed—And +stroke down her belly? and then step aside to tie her garter when she was +thinking of her love? Heh, Setter! + +SET. Oh, yes, sir. + +SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because I’m in the lady’s +favour? No matter, I’ll make your peace: I know they were a little smart +upon you. But I warrant I’ll bring you into the lady’s good graces. + +BLUFF. Pshaw, I have petitions to show from other-guess toys than she. +Look here; these were sent me this morning. There, read. [_Shows +letters_]. That—that’s a scrawl of quality. Here, here’s from a +countess too. Hum—No, hold—that’s from a knight’s wife—she sent it me by +her husband. But here, both these are from persons of great quality. + +SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, or no quality at +all, ’tis such a damned ugly hand. [_While_ SIR JOSEPH _reads_, BLUFFE +_whispers_ SETTER.] + +SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this is so +difficult. + +BLUFF. Not at all. Don’t I know him? + +SET. You’ll remember the conditions? + +BLUFF. I’ll give it you under my hand. In the meantime, here’s earnest. +[_Gives him money_.] Come, knight, I’m capitulating with Mr. Setter for +you. + +SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I’ll give thee anything but a night’s +lodging. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + + SHARPER _tugging in_ HEARTWELL. + +SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with me. May be she +mayn’t be within. ’Tis but to yond corner-house. + +HEART. Whither? Whither? Which corner-house. + +SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts. + +HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? (O’ons, how my heart +aches.) + +SHARP. Pshaw, thou’rt so troublesome and inquisitive. My, I’ll tell +you; ’tis a young creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did +you never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia? + +HEART. Death, and hell, and marriage! My wife! [_Aside_.] + +SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that had found his +wife knowing the first night. + +HEART. Hell, and the Devil! Does he know it? But, hold; if he should +not, I were a fool to discover it. I’ll dissemble, and try him. +[_Aside_.] Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of +melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief? + +SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but have their year of +probation before they are cloistered in the narrow joys of wedlock. But, +prithee, come along with me or I’ll go and have the lady to myself. +B’w’y George. [_Going_.] + +HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! Death! Shall I own my +shame or wittingly let him go and whore my wife? No, that’s +insupportable. O Sharper! + +SHARP. How now? + +HEART. Oh, I am married. + +SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married! + +HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married. + +SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long? + +HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married these two hours. + +SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a jest. Ha, ha, ha. + +HEART. Death! D’ye mock me? Hark ye, if either you esteem my +friendship, or your own safety—come not near that house—that +corner-house—that hot brothel. Ask no questions. + +SHARP. Mad, by this light. + + Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: + Married in haste, we may repent at leisure. + + + +SCENE IX. + + + SHARPER, SETTER. + + SET. Some by experience find these words misplaced: + At leisure married, they repent in haste. + +As I suppose my master Heartwell. + +SHARP. Here again, my Mercury! + +SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my achievements do deserve +the epithet—Mercury was a pimp too, but, though I blush to own it, at +this time, I must confess I am somewhat fallen from the dignity of my +function, and do condescend to be scandalously employed in the promotion +of vulgar matrimony. + +SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp? + +SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs depending—our +stratagem succeeded as you intended—Bluffe turns errant traitor; bribes +me to make a private conveyance of the lady to him, and put a +shame-settlement upon Sir Joseph. + +SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope— + +SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately informed the knight of the +treachery, who has agreed seemingly to be cheated, that the captain may +be so in reality. + +SHARP. Where’s the bride? + +SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a friend’s house of mine. +Here’s company coming; if you’ll walk this way, sir, I’ll tell you. + + + +SCENE X. + + + BELLMOUR, BELINDA, ARAMINTA, _and_ VAINLOVE. + +VAIN. Oh, ’twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive it? Men in madness have +a title to your pity. [_To_ ARAMINTA.] + +ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to their senses. + +VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon. + +ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, how insolent would +a real pardon make you! But there’s no need to forgive what is not worth +my anger. + +BELIN. O’ my conscience, I could find in my heart to marry thee, purely +to be rid of thee—at least thou art so troublesome a lover, there’s hopes +thou’lt make a more than ordinary quiet husband. [_To_ BELLMOUR.] + +BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye? + +BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the _mode_ have made marriage a mere +French dish. + +BELL. I hope there’s no French sauce. [_Aside_.] + +BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, your courtship, +one would think you meant a noble entertainment—but when we come to feed, +’tis all froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, which +have been I know not how many times warmed for other company, and at last +served up cold to the wife. + +BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not afford one warm +dish for the wife of his bosom. But you timorous virgins form a dreadful +chimæra of a husband, as of a creature contrary to that soft, humble, +pliant, easy thing, a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in +opposition to the pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage, +is but as the music in the play-house, until the curtain’s drawn; but +that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure. + +BELIN. Oh, foh,—no: rather courtship to marriage, as a very witty +prologue to a very dull play. + + + +SCENE XI. + + + [_To them_] SHARPER. + +SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you’ll bring the ladies, make haste to +Sylvia’s lodgings, before Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath. + +BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge yourself upon +Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. [_To_ BELINDA.] + +BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast. + +ARAM. ’Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never been at our house +since. + +BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that corner-house, and +I’ll tell you by the way what may divert and surprise you. + + + +SCENE XII. + + + SCENE: _Sylvia’s Lodgings_. + +HEARTWELL _and_ BOY. + +HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid? + +BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them out—Setter, I think they +called him. + +HEART. So-h—that precious pimp too—damned, damned strumpet! could she +not contain herself on her wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh, +cursed state! how wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life. + + We hope to find + That help which Nature meant in womankind, + To man that supplemental self-designed; + But proves a burning caustic when applied, + And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide + The bone when broken, than when made a bride. + + + +SCENE XIII. + + + [_To him_] BELLMOUR, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, ARAMINTA. + +BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the chimes of verse were +past, when once the doleful marriage-knell was rung. + +HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [VAINLOVE _and_ ARAMINTA +_talk apart_.] + +BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, sir. + +HEART. ’Tis not in thy nature to give me joy. A woman can as soon give +immortality. + +BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when they are married. + +BELL. That they are fit for no company but their wives. + +BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I swear, at the month’s +end, you shall hardly find a married man that will do a civil thing to +his wife, or say a civil thing to anybody else. How he looks already, +ha, ha, ha. + +BELL. Ha, ha, ha! + +HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For you, sir, I shall find +a time; but take off your wasp here, or the clown may grow boisterous; I +have a fly-flap. + +BELIN. You have occasion for’t, your wife has been blown upon. + +BELL. That’s home. + +HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my vexation, or +anything, but another woman. You’ve racked my patience; begone, or by— + +BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil—thou wilt not draw upon a woman? + +VAIN. What’s the matter? + +ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him? + +BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced. + +VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too much. ’Tis all serious to +him. + +BELIN. Nay, I swear, I begin to pity him myself. + +HEART. Damn your pity!—but let me be calm a little. How have I deserved +this of you? any of ye? Sir, have I impaired the honour of your house, +promised your sister marriage, and whored her? Wherein have I injured +you? Did I bring a physician to your father when he lay expiring, and +endeavour to prolong his life, and you one and twenty? Madam, have I had +an opportunity with you and baulked it? Did you ever offer me the favour +that I refused it? Or— + +BELIN. Oh foh! what does the filthy fellow mean? Lord, let me be gone. + +ARAM. Hang me, if I pity you; you are right enough served. + +BELL. This is a little scurrilous though. + +VAIN. Nay, ’tis a sore of your own scratching—well, George? + +HEART. You are the principal cause of all my present ills. If Sylvia +had not been your mistress, my wife might have been honest. + +VAIN. And if Sylvia had not been your wife, my mistress might have been +just. There, we are even. But have a good heart, I heard of your +misfortune, and come to your relief. + +HEART. When execution’s over, you offer a reprieve. + +VAIN. What would you give? + +HEART. Oh! Anything, everything, a leg or two, or an arm; nay, I would +be divorced from my virility to be divorced from my wife. + + + +SCENE XIV. + + + [_To them_] SHARPER. + +VAIN. Faith, that’s a sure way: but here’s one can sell you freedom +better cheap. + +SHARP. Vainlove, I have been a kind of a godfather to you yonder. I +have promised and vowed some things in your name which I think you are +bound to perform. + +VAIN. No signing to a blank, friend. + +SHARP. No, I’ll deal fairly with you. ’Tis a full and free discharge to +Sir Joseph Wittal and Captain Bluffe; for all injuries whatsoever, done +unto you by them, until the present date hereof. How say you? + +VAIN. Agreed. + +SHARP. Then, let me beg these ladies to wear their masks, a moment. +Come in, gentlemen and ladies. + +HEART. What the devil’s all this to me? + +VAIN. Patience. + + + +SCENE the Last + + + [_To them_] SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE, SYLVIA, LUCY, SETTER. + +BLUFF. All injuries whatsoever, Mr. Sharper. + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, whatsoever, Captain, stick to that; whatsoever. + +SHARP. ’Tis done, these gentlemen are witnesses to the general release. + +VAIN. Ay, ay, to this instant moment. I have passed an act of oblivion. + +BLUFF. ’Tis very generous, sir, since I needs must own— + +SIR JO. No, no, Captain, you need not own, heh, heh, heh. ’Tis I must +own— + +BLUFF.—That you are over-reached too, ha, ha, ha, only a little art +military used—only undermined, or so, as shall appear by the fair +Araminta, my wife’s permission. Oh, the devil, cheated at last! [LUCY +_unmasks_.] + +SIR JO. Only a little art-military trick, captain, only countermined, or +so. Mr. Vainlove, I suppose you know whom I have got—now, but all’s +forgiven. + +VAIN. I know whom you have not got; pray ladies convince him. [ARAM. +_and_ BELIN. _unmask_.] + +SIR JO. Ah! oh Lord, my heart aches. Ah! Setter, a rogue of all sides. + +SHARP. Sir Joseph, you had better have pre-engaged this gentleman’s +pardon: for though Vainlove be so generous to forgive the loss of his +mistress, I know not how Heartwell may take the loss of his wife. +[SYLVIA _unmasks_.] + +HEART. My wife! By this light ’tis she, the very cockatrice. O +Sharper! Let me embrace thee. But art thou sure she is really married +to him? + +SET. Really and lawfully married, I am witness. + +SHARP. Bellmour will unriddle to you. [HEARTWELL _goes to_ BELLMOUR.] + +SIR JO. Pray, madam, who are you? For I find you and I are like to be +better acquainted. + +SYLV. The worst of me is, that I am your wife— + +SHARP. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as you fear. A fine +lady, and a lady of very good quality. + +SIR JO. Thanks to my knighthood, she’s a lady— + +VAIN. That deserves a fool with a better title. Pray use her as my +relation, or you shall hear on’t. + +BLUFF. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse? + +SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected accordingly. Well, +honest Lucy, fare thee well. I think, you and I have been play-fellows +off and on, any time this seven years. + +LUCY. Hold your prating. I’m thinking what vocation I shall follow +while my spouse is planting laurels in the wars. + +BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I plant laurels for my +head abroad, I may find the branches sprout at home. + +HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank thee. And I cannot in +gratitude (for I see which way thou art going) see thee fall into the +same snare out of which thou hast delivered me. + +BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but there is a +fatality in marriage, for I find I’m resolute. + +HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon you. For my part, I +have once escaped; and when I wed again, may she be—ugly, as an old bawd. + +VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid— + +BELL. Wanton, as a young widow— + +SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife. + +HEART. Agreed. + +BELL. Well; ’midst of these dreadful denunciations, and notwithstanding +the warning and example before me, I commit myself to lasting durance. + +BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. [_Giving her hand_.] + +BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance? + +VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing? + +ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of our friend’s +experience first. + +BELL. O’ my conscience she dares not consent, for fear he should recant. +[_Aside_.] Well, we shall have your company to church in the morning. +May be it may get you an appetite to see us fall to before you. Setter, +did not you tell me?— + +SET. They’re at the door: I’ll call ’em in. + + + +A DANCE. + + +BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. Come take your +fellow-travellers. Old George, I’m sorry to see thee still plod on +alone. + + HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling bells made proud, + The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud. + A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds, + And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields. + But, oh— + What rugged ways attend the noon of life! + Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife, + What pain we tug that galling load, a wife. + All coursers the first heat with vigour run; + But ’tis with whip and spur the race is won. + + [_Exeunt Omnes_.] + + + + +EPILOGUE. +Spoken by MRS. BARRY. + + + As a rash girl, who will all hazards run, + And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone, + Soon as her curiosity is over, + Would give the world she could her toy recover, + So fares it with our poet; and I’m sent + To tell you he already does repent: + Would you were all as forward to keep Lent. + Now the deed’s done, the giddy thing has leisure + To think o’ th’ sting, that’s in the tail of pleasure. + Methinks I hear him in consideration: + What will the world say? Where’s my reputation? + Now that’s at stake. No, fool, ’tis out o’ fashion. + If loss of that should follow want of wit, + How many undone men were in the pit! + Why that’s some comfort to an author’s fears, + If he’s an ass, he will be tryed by’s peers. + But hold, I am exceeding my commission: + My business here was humbly to petition; + But we’re so used to rail on these occasions, + I could not help one trial of your patience: + For ’tis our way, you know, for fear o’ th’ worst, + To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first. + How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected? + I swear, young Bays within is so dejected, + ’Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him? + But then you cruel critics would so maul him! + Yet may be you’ll encourage a beginner; + But how? Just as the devil does a sinner. + Women and wits are used e’en much at one, + You gain your end, and damn ’em when you’ve done. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR*** + + +******* This file should be named 1192-0.txt or 1192-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/1/9/1192 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/1192-0.zip b/1192-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4db9e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1192-0.zip diff --git a/1192-h.zip b/1192-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..06d09c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1192-h.zip diff --git a/1192-h/1192-h.htm b/1192-h/1192-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..693605a --- /dev/null +++ b/1192-h/1192-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4869 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve, Edited +by G. S. Street + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Old Bachelor + a Comedy + + +Author: William Congreve + +Editor: G. S. Street + +Release Date: January 11, 2015 [eBook #1192] +[This file was first posted on January 8, 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen and Co. edition (<i>Comedies +of William Congreve</i>, <i>Volume 1</i>) by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Portrait of Mr. William Congreve" +title= +"Portrait of Mr. William Congreve" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> repeating such known facts +of Congreve’s life as seem agreeable to the present +occasion, and before attempting (with the courage of one’s +office) to indicate with truth what manner of man he was, and +what are the varying qualities of his four comedies, it seems +well to discuss and have done with two questions, obviously +pertinent indeed, but of a wider scope than the works of any one +writer.</p> +<p>The first is a stupid question, which may be happily dismissed +with brief ceremony. Grossness of language—the phrase +is an assumption—is a matter of time and place, a relative +matter altogether. There is a thing, and a generation finds +a name for it. The delicacy which prompts a later +generation to reject that name is by no means necessarily a +result of stricter habits, is far more often due to the flatness +which comes of untiring repetition and to the greater piquancy of +litotes. I am told that there are, or were, people in +America who reject the word ‘leg’ as a gross word, +but they must have found a synonym. So there is not a word +in Congreve for which there is not some equivalent expression in +contemporary writing. He says this or that: your modern +writers say so-and-so. One man may even think the +monosyllables in better taste than the periphrases. Another +may sacrifice to his intolerance thereof such enjoyment as he was +capable of taking from the greatest triumphs of diction or +observation: he is free to choose. It may be granted that +to one unfamiliar with the English of two centuries since the +grossness of Congreve’s language may seem <a +name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +viii</span>excessive—like splashes of colour occurring too +frequently in the arrangement of a wall. But that is merely +a result of novelty: given time and habit, a more artistic +perspective will be achieved.</p> +<p>The second question is more complex. Since Jeremy +Collier let off his <i>Short View of the Immorality and +Profaneness of the English Stage</i>, there has never lacked a +critic to chastise or to deplore—the more effective and +irritating course—not simply the coarseness but, the +immorality of our old comedies, their attitude towards and their +peculiar interests in life. Without affirming that we are +now come to the Golden Age of criticism, one may rejoice that +modern methods have taught quite humble critics to discriminate +between issues, and to deal with such a matter as this with some +mental detachment. The great primal fallacy comes from a +habit of expecting everything in everything. Just as in a +picture it is not enough for some people that it is well drawn +and well painted, but they demand an interesting story, a fine +sentiment, a great thought: so since our national glory is +understood to be the happy home, the happy home must be +triumphant everywhere, even in satiric comedy. The best +expression of this fallacy is in Thackeray. Concluding a +most eloquent, and a somewhat patronising examination of +Congreve, ‘Ah!’ he exclaims, ‘it’s a +weary feast, that banquet of wit where no love is.’ +The answer is plain: comedy of manners is comedy of manners, and +satire is satire; introduce ‘love’—an appeal, +one supposes, to sympathy with strictly legitimate and common +affection and a glorification of the happy home—and the +rules of your art compel you to satirise affection and to make +the happy home ridiculous: a truly deplorable work, which the +incriminated dramatists were discreet enough for the most part to +avoid. The remark brings us to the first of the +half-truths, which cause the complexity of the subject. The +dramatists whose withers the well-intentioned and disastrous +Collier wrung seem to have thought their best answer <a +name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>was to pose +as people with a mission—certainly Congreve so +posed—to reform the world with an exhibition of its +follies. An amusing answer, no doubt, of which the +absurdity is obvious! It does, however, contain a +half-truth. The idea of <i>The Way of the World’s</i> +reforming adulterers—observe the quotation from Horace on +the title-page—is a little delicious; yet the exhibition in +a ludicrous light of the thing satirised is surely an end of +satiric comedy? The right of the matter is indicated in a +sentence which occurs in the dedication of <i>The +Double-Dealer</i> far more wisely than in Congreve’s answer +to Collier: ‘I should be very glad of an opportunity to +make my compliment to those ladies who are offended: but they can +no more expect it in a comedy, than to be tickled by a surgeon, +when he’s letting ’em blood.’ Something +more than a half-truth is in Charles Lamb’s theory, that +the old comedy ‘has no reference whatever to the world that +is’: that it is ‘the Utopia of Gallantry’ +merely. Literally, historically, the theory is a +fantasy. What the Restoration dramatists did not borrow +from France was inspired directly by the court of Charles the +Second, and nobody conversant with the memoirs of that court can +have any difficulty in matching the fiction with reality. I +imagine that Congreve in part accepted a tradition of the stage, +but I am also perfectly well assured that he depicted what he +saw. How far the virtues we should associate with the +Charles the Second spirit may atone for its vices is a question +which would take us far into moral philosophy. It is enough +to remark that those vices are the exclusive possession of no +period: so long as society is constituted in anything like its +present order, there must be a section of it for which those +vices are the main interest in life. But Charles +Lamb’s gay and engaging defiance of the kill-joys of his +day has this value: it is most certainly just to say that, in +appreciating satiric comedy, ‘our coxcombical moral +sense’ must be ‘for a little transitory ease +excluded.’</p> +<p><a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. x</span>For one +may apprehend the whole truth to be somewhat thus. Satiric +comedy, or comedy of manners, is the art of making ludicrous in +dramatic form some phase of life. The writers of our old +comedy thought that certain vices—gambling, adultery, and +the like—formed a phase of life which for divers reasons, +essential and accidental, lent itself best to their +purpose. They may, or may not, have thought they were doing +society a service: their real justification is that, as artists, +they had to take for their art that material they could use +best. They used it according to their lights: Wycherley +with a coarse and heavy hand, so that it became nauseous; +Etherege with a light touch and a gay perception; Congreve with +an instinct of good-breeding, with a sure and extensive +observation, and with an incomparable style. But all were +justified in choosing for their material just what they +chose. They sinned artistically, now here, now there; but +to complain of this old comedy as a whole, that vice in it is +crammed too closely, is to forget that a play is a picture, not a +photograph, of life—is life arranged and coloured—and +that comedy of manners is composed of foibles or vices condensed +and relieved by one another. In so far as they overdid this +work, the comic writers were artistically at fault, and Jeremy +Collier was a good critic; but when he and his successors go +beyond the artistic objection, one takes leave to say, they +misapprehend the thing criticised. To complain that +‘love’ and common morality have no place in satiric +comedy is either to contemplate ridicule of them or to ask comedy +to be other than satiric. We know what happened when the +dramatists gave way: there followed, Hazlitt says, ‘those +<i>do-me-good</i>, lack-a-daisical, whining, make-believe +comedies in the next age, which are enough to set one to sleep, +and where the author tries in vain to be merry and wise in the +same breath.’ These in place of ‘the court, the +gala day of wit and pleasure, <a name="pagexi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xi</span>of gallantry, and Charles the +Second!’ And all because people would not keep their +functions distinct, and remember that as a comedy they were in a +court of art and not in a court of law! The old comedy is +dead, and its spirit gone from the stage: I have but endeavoured +to show that no harm need come to our phylacteries, if a flame +start from its ashes in the printed book.</p> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p>William Congreve was born at Bardsey, near Leeds, and was +baptized on 10th February 1669 [1670]. The Congreves were a +Staffordshire family, of an antiquity of four hundred years at +the date of the poet’s birth. Richard, his +grandfather, was a redoubtable Cavalier, and William, his father, +an officer in the army. The latter was given a command at +Youghal, while his son was still an infant, and becoming shortly +afterwards agent to Lord Cork, removed to Lismore. So it +chanced that the poet had his schooling at Kilkenny (with Swift), +and proceeded to Trinity College, Dublin, in 1685, rejoining +Swift, and like his friend becoming a pupil of St. George Ashe, +the mathematician. In 1688 he left Dublin, remained with +his people in Staffordshire for some two years, entered himself +at the Temple, and came upon the town with <i>The Old +Bachelor</i> in January 1692. <i>The Double-Dealer</i> was +produced in November 1693. In 1694 a storm in the theatre +led to a secession of Betterton and other renowned players from +Drury Lane: with the result that a new playhouse was opened in +Lincoln’s Inn Fields, on 30th April 1695, with <i>Love for +Love</i>. In the same year Congreve was appointed +‘Commissioner for Licensing Hackney Coaches.’ +<i>The Mourning Bride</i> was produced in 1697, and was followed, +oddly enough, by the controversy, or rather ‘row,’ +with Jeremy Collier. In March 1700 came <i>The Way of the +World</i>. The poet was made Commissioner <a +name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xii</span>of +Wine-Licences in 1705, and in 1714 with his Jamaica secretaryship +and his places in the Customs and the delightful +‘Pipe-Office,’ he had an income of twelve hundred +pounds a year. He died at his house in Surrey Street, +Strand, on 19th January 1728 [1729].</p> +<p>One or two comments on these dates are obvious. They +dissipate the Thackerayan fable that on the production of <i>The +Old Bachelor</i>, the fortunate young author received a shower of +sinecures, ‘all for writing a comedy.’</p> +<blockquote><p>‘And crazy Congreve scarce could spare<br /> +A shilling to discharge a chair,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>writes Swift, and ‘crazy’ indicates that Congreve +was gouty before he was rich. But then, the gout was a very +early factor in his life, and one may call the line an +exaggeration. Another couplet:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Thus Congreve spent in writing plays,<br /> +And one poor office, half his days:’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>probably expresses the truth. With his plays and his +hackney coaches he doubtless got through his twenties and +thirties with no very hardly grinding poverty, and at forty or so +was comfortably secure. But another fact, which the dates +bring out very sharply, has a different interest. At an age +when Swift was beginning to try his powers, Congreve’s work +was done. A few odes, a few letters he was still to write, +but no more comedies. Was it ill-health? or because the +town had all but damned his greatest play? or because he cared +more for life than for art?</p> +<h3>III.</h3> +<p>The question brings one to an attempted appreciation of the +man. Mr. Gosse, for whose <i>Life</i> I would express my +gratitude, confesses that ‘it is not very easy to construct +a <a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiii</span>definite portrait of Congreve.’ But that +it baffled that very new journalist, Mrs. Manley, in his own day, +and Mr. Gosse, with his information, in ours, to give +‘salient points’ to Congreve’s character, +proves in itself an essential characteristic, which need be +negatively stated only by choice. That no amusing +eccentricities are recorded, no ludicrous adventures, no +persistent quarrels, implies, taken with other facts we know, +that he was a well-bred man of the world, with the habit of +society: that in itself is a definite personal quality. One +supposes him an ease-loving man, not inclined to clown for the +amusement of his world. He was loved by his friends, being +tolerant, and understanding the art of social life. He was +successful, and must therefore have had enemies, but he was +careless to improve hostilities. For the temperament which +is so plain in the best of his writings must have been present in +his life—an unobtrusive, because a never directly implied, +superiority and an ironical humour. The picture of +swaggering snobbishness which Thackeray was inspired to make of +him is proved bad by all that we know. A swaggerer could +not have made a fast friend of Dryden—grown mellow, indeed, +but by no means beggared of his fire—on his first coming to +town, nor kept the intimacy of Swift, nor avoided the +fault-finding of Dennis. It is quite unnecessary to suppose +that Congreve’s famous remark to Voltaire, that he wished +to be visited as a plain gentleman, was the remark (if it was +made) of a snob: it was clearly a legitimate deprecation, spoken +by a man who had written nothing notable for twenty-six years, +which Voltaire misunderstood in a moment of stupidity, or in one +of forgetfulness misrepresented. His superiority and his +irony came from a just sense of the perspective of things, and, +not preventing affection for his friends, left him indifferent to +his foes. Probably, also, a course of dissipation (at which +Swift hints) in his youth, acting on a temperament not +particularly ardent, had <a name="pagexiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>left him with such passions for war +and love as were well under control. The two women with +whom his name is connected were Mrs. Bracegirdle and the Duchess +of Marlborough; but nobody knew—though the latter’s +mother hinted the worst—how far the intimacy went. +That is to say, no patent scandal was necessary to the connexion, +if in either case Congreve was a lover. And (once more) +Congreve was a gentleman.</p> +<p>But why did he become sterile at thirty? Where, if not +in dealing with motives and causes, may one be fancy-free? +Here there are many, of which the first to be given is mere +conjecture, but conjecture, I fancy, not inconsistent with such +facts as are known. When Congreve produced his first +comedy, he was but twenty-three, fresh from college and the +country, ignorant, as we are told, of the world. He +discovered very soon that he had an aptitude for social life, +that, no doubt, living humours and follies were as entertaining +as printed ones, that for a popular and witty man the world was +pleasant. But no man may be socially finished all at +once. In the course of the seven years between <i>The Old +Bachelor</i> and <i>The Way of the World</i>, Congreve must have +found his wit becoming readier, his tact surer, his appreciation +of natural comedy finer and (as personal keenness decreased) more +equable, his popularity greater, and—in fine—the +world more pleasant and the attractions of the study waning and +waning in comparison. He was a finished artist, he was +born, one might almost say, with a style; but his inclination was +to put his art into life rather than into print. Even in +our days (thank God for all His mercies!) everybody is not +writing a book. There are people whose talk has inimitable +touches, and whose lives are art, but who never sit down to a +quire of foolscap. I believe that Congreve naturally was +one of these, that his literary ambition was a result of +accidental necessity, and that had he lived as a boy in the +society he was of as a very young man—for all its literary +ornaments—we should have had <a name="pagexv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xv</span>of him only odes and songs. His +generation was idler and took itself less seriously than +ours. The primal curse was not imposed on everybody as a +duty. In seven years of growing appreciation Congreve came +to think the little graces and humours the better part. +That I believe to have been the first cause of his early +sterility; but others helped to determine the effect. A +certain indolence is of course implied in what has been +said. There was the gout, and there were his unfortunate +obesity and his failing sight. There was Henrietta, Duchess +of Marlborough, an absorbing dame. There were the success +of <i>Love for Love</i> and the failure of <i>The Way of the +World</i>. For all that may be said of the indifference of +the true artist to the verdict of the many-headed beast—and +Congreve’s contempt was as fine as any—it is not +amusing when your play or your book falls flat, and Congreve must +have known that he might write another, and possibly a better, +<i>Way of the World</i>, but no more <i>Love for Loves</i>. +Not to anticipate a later division of the subject, it may be said +here that a man of thirty, of a fine intellect and a fine taste, +of a languid habit withal, and with an invalided constitution, +while he might repeat the triumphs of diction and intellect of +<i>The Way of the World</i>, was most unlikely to return to the +broader humours and the more popular gaiety of the other +play. Congreve, like Rochester before him, despised the +judgment of the town in these matters, but by the town he would +have to be judged.</p> +<p>He was a witty, handsome man of the world, of imperturbable +temper and infinite tact, who could make and keep the friendship +of very various men, and be intimate with a woman without +quarrelling with her lovers. He had a taste for pictures +and a love for music. He must have hated violence and +uproar, and liked the finer shades of life. He wore the +mode of his day, and was free from the superficial protests of +the narrow-minded. Possibly not a very ‘definite +portrait,’ possibly a very <a name="pagexvi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>negative characterisation. +Possibly, also, a tolerably sure foundation for a structure of +sympathetic imagination.</p> +<h3>IV.</h3> +<p>Passing from necessarily vague and not obviously pertinent +remarks to criticism, which may fairly be less diffident, we +leave Congreve’s life and come to his work, to his +‘tawdry playhouse taper,’ as Thackeray called +it. It is only after the man has appeared that we recognise +that he came at the hour; but the nature of the hour is in this +case not difficult to be discerned. The habit of playgoing +was well-established; the turmoil of the Revolution was over; De +Jure was at a comfortable distance, and De Facto’s wife was +a patroness of the arts. But playgoers had but to be shown +something better than that they had, to discover that the +convention of the Restoration needed new blood. A +justification of its choice of material has been attempted: there +is no inconsistency in affirming that the tendency to use it with +a mere monotony of ribaldry was emphatic. Of this tendency +the most notable and useful illustration is Wycherley, because in +point of wit and dramatic skill he dwarfed his colleagues. +As Mr. Swinburne has said, the art of Congreve is different in +kind, not merely in degree, from the cruder and more boisterous +product of the ‘brawny’ dramatist. Happily, +however, for his success, the difference was not instantly +clear. His first play links him with Wycherley, not with +that rare and faint embryo of the later Congreve, George +Etherege. ‘You was always a gentleman, Mr. +George,’ as the valet says in <i>Beau Austin</i>. +Happily for his popularity Congreve first followed the more +popular man. It is not, indeed, until he wrote his last +play that he was a whole Etherege idealised, albeit a greater +than Etherege in the meantime. The peculiar effect which +Etherege achieved in <i>Sir Fopling Flutter</i>—at whom and +with whom you laugh at <a name="pagexvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>once—was not sublimated (the +fineness left, the faintness become firmness) until Congreve +created Witwoud, the inimitable, in <i>The Way of the +World</i>.</p> +<p>At the very first Congreve had good fortune in his +players. It was a brave time for them. True, their +salaries were not wonderfully large. Colley Cibber +complains of the days before the revolt in 1694: ‘at what +unequal salaries the hired actors were held by the absolute +authority of their frugal masters, the patentees.’ +But the example was not faded of those gay days when they were +the pets of the most artistic court that England has known: when +great ladies carried Kynaston in his woman’s dress to Hyde +Park after the play, and the King was the most persistent and the +most interested playgoer in his realm. They were not thus +petted for irrelevant reasons—for their respectability, +their piety, or their domestic virtues; and their recognition as +artists by an artistic society did not spoil their art. +When Congreve started on his course of play-writing, Queen Mary +kept up, in a measure, the amiable custom of her uncle. He +was very fortunate in his casts. There was Betterton, first +of all, the versatile, the restrained, and, witness everybody, +the incomparable. There was Underhill, ‘a correct and +natural comedian’—one must quote Cibber pretty often +in this connexion—not well suited, one must suppose, to +play Setter to Betterton’s Heartwell in <i>The Old +Bachelor</i>, but by reason of his admirable assumption of +stupidity to make an excellent Sir Sampson in <i>Love for +Love</i>. There were Powel, Williams, Verbruggen, Bowen, +and Dogget (Fondlewife in the first play: afterwards Ben Legend, +a part which made his fame and turned his head)—all notable +comedians. Kynaston, graceful in old age as he had been +beautiful in youth, was not in <i>The Old Bachelor</i>, but +created Lord Touchwood in <i>The Double-Dealer</i>. +Mountfort had been murdered by my Lord Mohun, and Leigh had +followed him to the grave, but their names lived in their <a +name="pagexviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xviii</span>wives. Mrs. Mountfort ‘was mistress of +more variety of humour than I ever knew in any one woman actress +. . . nothing, though ever so barren, if within the bounds of +nature, could be flat in her hands.’ Indeed +‘she was so fond of humour, in what low part soever to be +found, that she would make no scruple of defacing her fair form +to come heartily into it’—assuredly a rare +actress! About Mrs. Leigh Cibber is less enthusiastic, but +grants her ‘a good deal of humour’: her old women +were famous. Mrs. Barry was a stately, dignified actress, +best, no doubt, in tragedy. Lastly, there was Mrs. +Bracegirdle, the innocent <i>publica cura</i>, whom authors +courted through their plays, and who had all the men in the house +for longing lovers. Who shall say how far ‘her youth +and lively aspect’ influenced the criticisms that have come +down to us? She played Millamant to Congreve’s +satisfaction.</p> +<h3>V.</h3> +<p>It is not difficult to understand how it was that Dryden +thought <i>The Old Bachelor</i> the best first play he had seen, +and the town applauded to the echo. But it is a little hard +to understand why later critics, with the three other comedies +before them, have not more expressly marked the difference +between the first and those. There is no new tune in <i>The +Old Bachelor</i>: it is an old tune more finely played, and for +that very reason it met with immediate acceptance. It is +not likely that Dryden—a great poet and a great and +generous critic, it may be, but an old man—would have +bestowed such unhesitating approval on a play which ignored the +conventions in which he had lived. As it was, he saw those +conventions reverently followed, yet served by a master +wit. The fact that Congreve allowed Dryden and others to +‘polish’ his play, by giving it an air of the stage +and the town which it lacked, need not of course spoil it for +us. The stamp of Congreve is clearly marked on <a +name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xix</span>the +dialogue, though not on every page. You may see its +essentials in two passages taken absolutely at random. +‘Come, come,’ says Bellmour in the very first scene, +‘leave business to idlers and wisdom to fools; they have +need of ’em: wit be my faculty and pleasure my occupation, +and let Father Time shake his glass.’ Or Fondlewife +soliloquises: ‘Tell me, Isaac, why art thee jealous? +Why art thee distrustful of the wife of thy bosom? Because +she is young and vigorous, and I am old and impotent. Then +why didst thee marry, Isaac? Because she was beautiful and +tempting, and because I was obstinate and doating. . . +.’ In the one passage is the gay and skilfully light +paradox, in the other the clean, rhythmical, and balanced, yet +dramatic and appropriate English that are elements of +Congreve’s style. It is in the conventions of its +characterisation that <i>The Old Bachelor</i> belongs, not to +true Congrevean comedy but, to that of the models from which he +was to break away. The characterisation of <i>The Way of +the World</i> is light and true, that of <i>The Old Bachelor</i> +is heavy and yet vague. Vainlove indeed, the ‘mumper +in love,’ who ‘lies canting at the gate,’ is +individual and Congrevean. But Heartwell, the blustering +fool, Bellmour, the impersonal rake, Wittol and Bluffe, the +farcical sticks, Fondlewife, the immemorial city husband, and the +troop of undistinguished women—what can be said of them but +that they are glaring stage properties, speaking better English +than the comic stage had before attracted? Germs, possibly, +of better things to come, that is all, so far as characterisation +goes. The Fondlewife episode, in particular, which +doubtless was mightily popular—what is there more in it +than the mutton fisted wit and brutality of Wyeherley, with some +of Congreve’s English? Such scenes as these, it may +be hazarded, so contemptible in the light of Congreve’s +better work, are ineffective now because they fall between two +stools: between the comedy (or tragedy) of a crude physical fact, +naked and <a name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xx</span>impossible, as in Rochester, and the comedy (or tragedy) +of delicately-phrased intrigue. The latter was yet to come +when this play was produced, and meantime such episodes went very +well, and their popularity is intelligible. For the rest +<i>The Old Bachelor</i>, though to us in these days its plot +appear a somewhat uninspiring piece of fairyland, was a good +acting play, fitted with great skill to its actual players. +The part of Fondlewife, created by Dogget, was on a revival +played (to his own immense satisfaction) by Colley Cibber. +In Araminta Mrs. Bracegirdle began (in a faint outline as it +were) the series of lively, sympathetic, intelligent heroines +which Congreve wrote for her. Lord Falkland’s +Prologue is as funny as it is indecently suggestive, which is +saying a great deal. The one actually spoken gave an +opportunity of the merriest archness to Mrs. Bracegirdle, and was +calculated to put the audience in the best of good humours.</p> +<p>The faults of <i>The Double-Dealer</i> are obvious on a first +reading, and were very justly condemned on a first acting. +The intrigue is wearisome: its involutions are ineffectively +puzzling. Maskwell’s villainy and Mellefont’s +folly are both unconvincing. The tragedy of Lady Touchwood, +less tragic than that of Lady Wishfort in <i>The Way of the +World</i>, is more obviously than that out of the picture. +The play is, in fact, not pure comedy of manners: it is that +<i>plus</i> tragedy, an element less offensive than the +sentimentality which spoils <i>The School for Scandal</i>, but +yet a notable fault. For while you can resolve the tragedy +of Lady Wishfort into wicked and very grim comedy, you can do +nothing with the tragedy of Lady Touchwood but try to ignore +it. In his epistle dedicatory to Charles Montague, Congreve +admits that his play has faults, but does not take in hand those +adduced above, with the exception of the objections to Maskwell +and Mellefont. ‘They have mistaken cunning in one +character for folly in another’: an ineffectual answer, +because the extremity <a name="pagexxi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxi</span>of cunning is equally destructive of +dramatic balance. He defends his use of soliloquy very +warmly: of which it may be said that, so long as his +rule—that no character may overhear the +soliloquiser—is observed, it is a tolerable convention, but +a confession of weakness in construction. He declares he +‘would rather disoblige all the critics in the world than +one of the fair sex,’ and, having made his bow, he turns +upon the ladies and rends them. An author campaigning +against his critics is always a pleasant spectacle, but +Congreve’s defence of <i>The Double-Dealer</i> is rather +amusing than convincing.</p> +<p>It needed no defence; for with all its faults, such as they +are, upon it, there are in it scenes and characters which only +Congreve could have made. Brisk is a worthy forerunner of +Witwoud, Sir Paul Plyant a delicious old credulous fool; while +the tyrannical and vain Lady Plyant is so drawn that you almost +love her. But the triumph is Lady Froth, ‘a great +coquet, pretender to poetry, wit, and learning,’ and one +would almost as lief have seen Mrs. Mountfort in the part as the +Bracegirdle’s Millamant. Her serious folly and +foolish wisdom, her poem and malice and compliments and babbling +vivacity—set off, it is fair to remember, by a pretty +face—are atonement for a dozen Maskwells. She is a +female Witwoud, her author’s first success in a sort of +character he draws to perfection. The scene between +Mellefont and Lady Plyant, where she insists on believing that +the gallant, under cover of a marriage with her stepdaughter, +purposes to lead her astray, and where she goes through a +delightful farce of answering her scruples before the bewildered +man—the scene that for some far-fetched reason led +Macaulay’s mind to the incest in the <i>Oedipus +Rex</i>—is perhaps the best comedy of situation in the +piece. But the scene of defamation between the Froths and +Brisk is notable as (with the Cabal idea in <i>The Way of the +World</i>) the inspiration of the Scandal Scenes in <a +name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxii</span>Sheridan’s play. When we remember that +less than two years were gone since the production of <i>The Old +Bachelor</i>, the improvement in Congreve is remarkable. +Almost his only concession to the groundlings is the star-gazing +episode of Lady Froth and Brisk: a mistake, because it spoils her +inconsequent folly, but a small matter. In his second play +Congreve was himself, the wittiest and most polished writer of +comedy in English. In the face of this fact ‘the +public’ conducted itself characteristically: it more or +less damned <i>The Double-Dealer</i> until the queen approved, +when it applauded lustily. That occasion gave Colley Cibber +his first chance as Kynaston’s substitute in Lord +Touchwood. When one remembers Dryden’s long, +struggling, cudgelling and cudgelled life, it is impossible to +read without emotion his tribute to a very young and successful +author in the verses prefixed to this play:</p> +<blockquote><p>Firm Doric pillars found your solid base:<br /> +The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;<br /> +Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.<br /> +. . . . .<br /> +We cannot envy you, because we love.<br /> +. . . . .<br /> +Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought,<br /> +But Genius must be born, and never can be taught.<br /> +This is your portion, this your native store;<br /> +Heav’n, that but once was prodigal before.<br /> +To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The tribute is indubitably sincere; in point of +Congreve’s wit and diction it is as indubitably true.</p> +<p><i>Love for Love</i> was the most popular of Congreve’s +comedies: it held the stage so long that Hazlitt could say, +‘it still acts and is still acted well.’ Being +wise after the event, one may give some obvious reasons. It +is more human than any other of his plays, and at the same time +more farcical. By ‘more human’ it is not meant +that the characters are truer to life than those in <a +name="pagexxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxiii</span><i>The +Way of the World</i>, but that they are truer to average life, +and therefore more easily recognisable by the average +spectator. Tattle, for instance, is so gross a fool, that +any fool in the pit could see his folly; Witwoud might deceive +all but the elect. No familiarity—direct or +indirect—with a particular mode of life and speech is +necessary to the appreciation of <i>Love for Love</i>. Sir +Sampson Legend is your unmistakable heavy father, cross-grained +and bullying. Valentine is no ironical, fine gentleman like +Mirabell, but a young rake from Cambridge, all debts and high +spirits. Scandal is a plain railer at things, especially +women; Ben Legend a sea-dog who cannot speak without a nautical +metaphor; Jeremy an idealised comic servant; and Foresight +grotesque farce. Angelica is a shrewd but hearty +‘English girl,’ and Miss Prue a veritable country +Miss; while Mrs. Frail and Mrs. Foresight are broadly skittish +matrons. There is nothing in the play to strain the +attention or to puzzle the intellect, and it is full of laughter: +no wonder it was a success. It is, intellectually, on an +altogether different plane from <i>The Way of the World</i>, on a +slightly lower one than <i>The Double-Dealer</i>. But in +its own way it is irresistibly funny, and by reason of its +diction it is never for a moment other than distinguished.</p> +<p>I imagine the bodkin scene will always take the palm in it for +mere mirth. Delightful sisters!</p> +<blockquote><p>I suppose you would not go alone to the +World’s End?</p> +<p>The World’s End! What, do you mean to banter +me?</p> +<p>Poor innocent! You don’t know that there’s a +place called the World’s End?</p> +<p>I’ll swear you can keep your countenance purely; +you’d make an admirable player. . . . But look you +here, now—where did you lose this gold bodkin?—Oh, +sister, sister!</p> +<p>My bodkin?</p> +<p>Nay, ’tis yours; look at it.</p> +<p>Well, if you go to that, where did you find this bodkin? +Oh, sister, sister!—sister every way.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="pagexxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxiv</span>Broad, popular comedy, it is admirable; but it is not +especially Congrevean. Tattle’s love-lesson to Miss +Prue and his boasting of his duchesses are in the same broad +vein. Valentine’s mad scene is more remarkable, in +that Congreve gives rein to his fancy, and that his diction is at +its very best. ‘Hark’ee, I have a secret to +tell you. Endymion and the Moon shall meet us upon Mount +Latmos, and will be married in the dead of night. But say +not a word. Hymen shall put his torch into a dark lanthorn, +that it may be secret, and Juno shall give her peacock +poppy-water, that he may fold his ogling tail, and Argus’s +hundred eyes be shut, ha? Nobody shall know, but +Jeremy.’</p> +<blockquote><p>TATTLE. Do you know me, Valentine?</p> +<p>VALENTINE. You? Who are you? No, I hope +not.</p> +<p>TATTLE. I am Jack Tattle, your friend.</p> +<p>VALENTINE. My friend, what to do? I am no married +man, and thou canst not lie with my wife. I am very poor, +and thou canst not borrow money of me. Then, what +employment have I for a friend?</p> +<p>ANGELICA. Do you know me, Valentine?</p> +<p>VALENTINE. Oh, very well.</p> +<p>ANGELICA. Who am I?</p> +<p>VALENTINE. You’re a woman, one to whom Heaven gave +beauty when it grafted roses on a briar. You are the +reflection of Heaven in a pond, and he that leaps at you is +sunk. You are all white, a sheet of lovely, spotless paper, +when you first are born; but you are to be scrawled and blotted +by every goose’s quill. I know you; for I loved a +woman, and loved her so long, that I found out a strange thing: I +found out what a woman was good for.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Imagine Betterton, the greatest actor of his time, delivering +that last speech, with its incomparable rhythm! I like to +think that he gave the spectators an idea that Valentine’s +self-sacrifice for Angelica was nothing but a bold device, a +calculated effect; otherwise the sacrifice is an excrescence in +this comedy, which, popular and broad though it be, is cynical in +Congreve’s manner throughout. One is consoled, +however, by the pleasant <a name="pagexxv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxv</span>fate of the ingenious Mr. Tattle and +the intriguing Mrs. Frail, who are left tied for life against +their will. The trick, by the way, of a tricked marriage is +constant in Congreve, and reveals his poverty of +construction. He can devise you comic situations +unflaggingly, but when he approaches the end of a play his +<i>deus ex machinâ</i> is invariably this flattest and most +battered old deity in fairyland.</p> +<p>The dedication to Lord Dorset contains nothing of interest +beyond the confession that the play is too long, and the +information that part of it was omitted in the playing. A +line in the prologue, ‘We grieve One falling Adam and one +tempted Eve,’ is explained by Colley Cibber to refer to +Mrs. Mountford, who, having cast her lot with Betterton and +migrated to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, threw up her part on a +question of cash, and to Williams, an actor who ‘loved his +bottle better than his business,’ who deserted at the same +time. It serves to show the interest the town took in the +players, that the fact was referred to on the stage. The +lady’s part was taken by Mrs. Ayliff; Mrs. Leigh played the +nurse—a very poor part after Lady Plyant; Dogget’s +success as Ben Legend has been noted. Mrs. +Bracegirdle’s Angelica was doubtless ravishing: a +‘virtuous young woman,’ as our ancestors phrased it, +but quite relieved from insipidity.</p> +<p>It would need a greater presumption than the writer is gifted +withal to add his contribution to the praises critics have +lavished on <i>The Way of the World</i>. It is better to +quote Mr. Swinburne. ‘In 1700 Congreve replied to +Collier with the crowning work of his genius—the unequalled +and unapproached masterpiece of English comedy. The one +play in our language which may fairly claim a place beside, or +but just beneath, the mightiest work of Molière, is <i>The +Way of the World</i>.’ But he continues: ‘On +the stage, which had recently acclaimed with uncritical applause +the author’s more questionable appearance <a +name="pagexxvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxvi</span>in the +field of tragedy,’—<i>The Mourning +Bride</i>,—‘this final and flawless evidence of his +incomparable powers met with a rejection then and ever since +inexplicable on any ground of conjecture.’ There the +critics are not unanimous. Mr. Gosse, for instance, has his +explanation: that the spectators must have fidgeted, and wished +‘that the actors and actresses would be doing +something.’ Very like, indeed: the spectators, then +as now, would no doubt have preferred ‘knock-about +farce.’ But, I venture to think, the explanation is +not complete. The construction of the play is weak, +certainly, but the actors and actresses do a great deal after +all. For that matter, audiences will stand scenes of still +wit—but they like to comprehend it; and the characters in +<i>The Way of the World</i>, or most of them, represent a society +whose attitude and speech are entirely ironical and paradoxical, +a society of necessity but a small fraction of any +community. Some sort of study or some special experience is +necessary to the enjoyment of such a set. It is not the +case of a few witticisms and paradoxes firing off at intervals, +like crackers, from the mouths of one or two actors with whom the +audience is taught to laugh as a matter of course: the vein is +unbroken. Now, literalness and common sense are the +qualities of the average uninstructed spectator, and <i>The Way +of the World</i> was high over the heads of its audience.</p> +<p>To come to details. The tragedy of Lady Wishfort has +often been remarked—the veritable tragedy of a lovesick old +woman. All the grotesque touches, her credulity, her +vanity, her admirable dialect (‘as I’m a +person!’), but serve to make the tragedy the more +pitiable. Either, therefore, our appreciation of satiric +comedy is defective, or Congreve made a mistake. To regard +this poor old soul as mere comedy is to attain to an almost +satanic height of contempt: the comedy is more than grim, it is +savagely cruel. To be pitiless, on the other hand, is a +satirist’s virtue. On the whole, we may reasonably <a +name="pagexxvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxvii</span>say +that the tragedy is not too keen in itself, but that it is too +obviously indicated. Witwoud is surely a great +character? The stage is alive with mirth when he is on +it. His entrance in the very first part of the play is +delightful. ‘Afford me your compassion, my dears; +pity me, Fainall; Mirabell, pity me. . . . Fainall, how does your +lady? Gad, I say anything in the world to get this fellow +out of my head. I beg pardon that I should ask a man of +pleasure, and the town, a question at once so foreign and +domestic. But I talk like an old maid at a marriage, I +don’t know what I say.’ But one might quote for +ever. Witwoud, almost as much as Millamant herself, is an +eternal type. His little exclamations, his assurance of +sympathy, his terror of the commonplace—surely one knows +them well? His tolerance of any impertinence, lest he +should be thought to have misunderstood a jest, is a great +distinction. But Congreve’s gibe in the dedication at +the critics, who failed ‘to distinguish betwixt the +character of a Witwoud and a Truewit,’ is hardly fair: as +Dryden said of Etherege’s Sir Fopling, he is ‘a fool +so nicely writ, The ladies might mistake him for a +wit.’ Then, Millamant is the ultimate expression of +those who, having all the material goods which nature and +civilisation can give, live on paradoxes and artifices. Her +insolence is the inoffensive insolence only possible to the +well-bred. ‘O ay, letters,—I had +letters,—I am persecuted with letters,—I hate +letters,—nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has +’em, one does not know why,—they serve one to pin up +one’s hair.’ ‘Beauty the lover’s +gift!—Lord, what is a lover, that it can give? Why +one makes lovers as fast as one pleases, and they live as long as +one pleases, and they die as soon as one pleases; and then if one +pleases one makes more.’</p> +<p>In parts of its characterisation <i>The Way of the World</i> +is extremely bold in observation, extremely careless of literary +<a name="pagexxviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxviii</span>types and traditions. Mrs. Fainall, a woman +who is the friend, and assists in the intrigues, of a man who has +ceased to be her lover, is most unconventionally human. Of +all the inimitable scenes, that in which Millamant and Mirabell +make their conditions of marriage is perhaps the most +unquestionable triumph. ‘Let us never visit together, +nor go to a play together, but let us be very strange and +well-bred’—there is its keynote. The dialogue +is as sure and perfect in diction, in balance of phrases, and in +musical effectiveness as can be conceived, and for all its care +is absolutely free in its gaiety. It is the ultimate +expression of the joys of the artificial. As for the +prologue, it is an invitation to the dullards to damn the play, +and is anything but serenely confident. The dedication, to +‘Ralph, Earl of Mountague,’ has an interesting fact: +it tells us that the comedy was written immediately after staying +with him, ‘in your retirement last summer from the +town,’ and pays a tribute to the influence of the society +the dramatist met there. ‘Vous y voyez +partout,’ said Voltaire of Congreve, ‘le langage des +honnêtes gens avec des actions de fripon; ce qui prouve +qu’il connaissait bien son monde, et qu’il vivait +dans ce qu’on appelle la bonne compagnie.’</p> +<p>The want of dramatic skill which has been alleged against +Congreve is simply a question of construction—of the +construction of his plays as a whole. His plots hang fire, +are difficult to follow, and are not worth remembering. But +many things besides go to the making of good plays, and few +playwrights have had all the theatrical virtues. Do we not +pardon a lack of incident in a novel of character? In this +connexion it is worth while to contrast Congreve with Sheridan, +who in the matter of construction was a far abler +craftsman. But is there not in the elder poet enough to +turn the scale, even the theatrical scale, ten times over? +Compare the petty indignation, with which the dramatist of <i>The +School for Scandal</i> deals with <a name="pagexxix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxix</span>his scandalmongers, and the amused +indifference of Congreve towards the cabalists in <i>The Way of +the World</i>. Or take any hero of Congreve’s and +contrast him with that glorification of vulgar lavishness and +canting generosity, that very barmaid’s hero, Charles +Surface. It is all very well to say that Joseph is the real +hero; but Sheridan made it natural for the stupid sentimentality +of later days to make him the villain, and Congreve would have +made it impossible. Of wit (of course) there is more in a +scene of Congreve than in a play of Sheridan. Moreover, +faulty in construction as his main plots are, in detail his +construction is often admirable: as in play of character upon +character, in countless opportunities for delightful archness and +cruelty in the women, for the display of every comic emotion in +the men. He lived in the playhouse, and his characters, +true to life though they be, have about them as it were an ideal +essence of the boards. With Hazlitt, ‘I would rather +have seen Mrs. Abington’s Millamant than any Rosalind that +ever appeared on the stage.’ A lover and a constant +frequenter of the theatre—albeit the plays he sees bore him +to death—cannot, in reading Congreve, choose but see the +glances and hear the intonations of imaginary players.</p> +<h3>VI.</h3> +<p>Congreve’s choice of material has been defended at an +early stage of these remarks. There is the further and more +interesting question of his point of view, his attitude towards +it. Mr. Henley speaks of his ‘deliberate and +unmitigable baseness of morality.’ Differing with +deference, I think it may be shown that his attitude is a pose +merely, and an artistic and quite innocent pose. It is the +amusing pose of the boyish cynic turned into an artistic +convention. The lines:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘He alone won’t betray in whom none +will confide,<br /> +And the nymph may be chaste that has never been tried:’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="pagexxx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxx</span>which +conclude the characteristic song in the third act of <i>Love for +Love</i>, are typical of his attitude. Does anybody suppose +that an intelligent man of the world meant that sentiment in all +seriousness?</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Nothing’s new besides our faces,<br +/> +Every woman is the same’—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>those lines (in his first play), which seemed so shocking to +Thackeray, what more do they express than the green cynicism of +youth? When Mr. Leslie Stephen speaks of his ‘gush of +cynical sentiment,’ he speaks unsympathetically, but the +phrase, to be an enemy’s, is just. It is cynical +sentiment, and the hostility comes from taking it +seriously. I think it the most artistic attitude for a +writer of gay, satiric comedies, and that its very excess should +prevent its being taken for more than a convention. We are +not called upon to see satiric comedies all day long, and the +question, everlastingly asked by implication of every work of +art—‘Would you like to live with it?’—is +here, as in most other cases, irrelevant. One is reminded +that there is more in life than intrigues and cynical comments on +them. And one is inclined to put the questions in answer: +‘Does a man who really feels the sorrowful things of life, +its futile endeavours and piteous separations, find relief in +seeing his emotions mimicked on the stage in a +‘wholesome’ play of sentiment with a happy +ending? Is he not rather comforted by the distractions of +cheerful frivolity, of conventional denial of his +pains?’ The demand is as inartistic and irrelevant as +the criticism which suggested it, but it returns a sufficient +reply. It does not touch the ‘catharsis’ of +tragedy, which is another matter. For the rest, +Congreve’s attitude, cynicism apart, is an attitude of +irony and superiority over common emotions, the attitude, +artificial and inoffensive, of the society he depicts in his +greatest play. He enjoys the humours of his puppets, he <a +name="pagexxxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxi</span>is never +angry with them. It is the attitude of an artist in +expounding human nature, of an expert in observation of life: an +attitude attainable but by very few, and disliked as a rule by +the rest, who want to clap or to hiss—who can laugh but who +cannot smile.</p> +<h3>VII.</h3> +<p>When Congreve left the stage, said Dennis the critic, +‘comedy left it with him.’ Vanburgh and +Farquhar were left to expound comedy of manners, the one with a +vigorous gusto, the other with a romantic gaiety. The +peculiar perfume of <i>The Way of the World</i> was given to +neither, yet they wrote comedy of manners. But if Congreve +left colleagues, he left no sons, and most certainly, one may +say, that when those colleagues died, English comedy took to her +bed. ‘The Comic Muse, long sick, is now +a-dying,’ wrote Garrick in his prologue to <i>She Stoops to +Conquer</i>, and she had not to apologise, like Charles the +Second, for the unconscionable time she was about it. It is +a little crude to attribute her demise to Jeremy Collier and his +<i>Short View</i>—a block painted to look like a +thunderbolt. It is not a matter of decency, of alteration +or improvement in manners. A comedy might be wholly +Congrevean without a coarse word from beginning to end. It +is a matter of the exclusion (not the stultification), the +suspension of moral prepossessions, the absence of sympathetic +sentimentalism, the habit of shirking nothing and smiling at all +things. These qualities are not characteristic of the +average Englishman. Now, satiric comedy did not in its +initiation depend upon the average Englishman. It took its +cue from the court of Charles the Second, who—with a dash +of thoroughly English humour—was more than half-French in +temperament, and attracted to himself all that was artistically +frivolous in his kingdom. Questions of decency and +morality—<a name="pagexxxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxii</span>which after all are not perpetually +amusing—apart, the social spirit typified in this +exceptional king is one of sceptical humour and ironical smiles: +it takes common emotions for granted—is bored by them, in +fact—and is a foe to sentimentality and gush and virtuously +happy endings. It was the spirit of Charles the Second that +inspired English comedy, and inspired it most thoroughly in +Congreve but a few years after Charles’s death. Under +changed conditions, one is apt to underestimate the influence of +the Court upon the Town two hundred years ago. Well, the +Georges became our defenders of the faith, and they hated +‘boets and bainters.’ English comedy was thrown +back upon the patronage and the inspiration of average England, +and up to the time of writing has shown few signs of +recovery. Of course, the decay was gradual: you may see it +at a most interesting stage in <i>The School for Scandal</i>, a +comedy of manners with a strong dash of common +sentimentality. It would be just possible, one conceives, +to play <i>The School for Scandal</i> as Charles Lamb says he saw +it played, with Joseph for a hero, as a comedy of manners: you +can just imagine Sir Peter as a sort of Sir Paul Plyant, and as +not played to raise a lump in your throat. But Sheridan +made it a difficult task. Perhaps you may see the evil +influence at its worst in the so-called comedies which were our +glory twenty-five years ago: in such a play as <i>Caste</i>, an +even river of sloppy sentiment, where the acme of chivalrous +delicacy is to refrain from lighting a cigarette in a +woman’s presence, where the triumph of humour is for a +guardsman to take a kettle off the fire, and where the character +of Eccles shows what excellent comedy the author might (alas!) +have written.</p> +<p>One is fain to ask if the spirit of Congrevean comedy will +ever come back to our stage. An echo of it has been heard +in dialogue once or twice in the last few years: not a trace has +<a name="pagexxxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxiii</span>been seen in action. And yet we permit our +dramatists a pretty wide range of subjects. We allow the +subjects: it is the Congrevean attitude towards them which we +should condemn. But the stage would be all the merrier if +we could only understand that that attitude is harmless; that to +see the humorous aspect of a thing is not to ignore the pathetic +or the sociological; and that we should return all the heartier +to our serious and sentimental considerations of the problems of +life for allowing them to be laughed at for an evening at a +comedy. Meantime we can read the book.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">G. S. STREET.</p> +<h1>THE OLD BACHELOR<br /> +A COMEDY</h1> +<blockquote><p><i>Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria +curru</i>,<br /> +<i>Exanimat lentus spectator</i>; <i>sedulus inflat</i>:<br /> +<i>Sic leve</i>, <i>sic parvum est</i>, <i>animum quod laudis +avarum</i><br /> +<i>Subruit</i>, <i>and reficit</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">—Horat.</span> <i>Epist.</i> <span +class="smcap">i</span>. lib. ii.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD CLIFFORD OF +LANESBOROUGH, <span class="GutSmall">ETC.</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—It is with a great +deal of pleasure that I lay hold on this first occasion which the +accidents of my life have given me of writing to your lordship: +for since at the same time I write to all the world, it will be a +means of publishing (what I would have everybody know) the +respect and duty which I owe and pay to you. I have so much +inclination to be yours that I need no other engagement. +But the particular ties by which I am bound to your lordship and +family have put it out of my power to make you any compliment, +since all offers of myself will amount to no more than an honest +acknowledgment, and only shew a willingness in me to be +grateful.</p> +<p>I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to +be your lordship’s servant, that it might be more my merit; +not that I would avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my +own choice to run me into the debt: that I might have it to +boast, I had distinguished a man to whom I would be glad to be +obliged, even without the hopes of having it in my power ever to +make him a return.</p> +<p>It is impossible for me to come near your lordship in any kind +and not to receive some favour; and while in appearance I am only +making an acknowledgment (with the usual underhand dealing of the +world) I am at the same time insinuating my own interest. I +cannot give your lordship your due, without tacking a bill of my +own privileges. ’Tis true, if a man never committed a +folly, he would never stand in need of a protection. But +then power would have nothing to do, and good nature no occasion +to show itself; and where those qualities are, ’tis pity +they should want objects to shine upon. I must confess this +is no reason why a man should do an idle thing, nor indeed any +good excuse for it when done; yet it reconciles the uses of such +authority and goodness to the necessities of our follies, and is +a sort of poetical logic, which at this time I would make use of, +to argue your lordship into a protection of this play. It +is the first offence I have committed in this kind, or indeed, in +any kind of poetry, though not the first made public, and +therefore I hope will the more easily be pardoned. But had +it been acted, when it was first written, more might have been +said in its behalf: ignorance of the town and stage would then +have been excuses in a young writer, which now almost four +years’ experience will scarce allow of. Yet I must +declare myself sensible of the good nature of the town, in +receiving this play so kindly, with all its faults, which I must +own were, for the most part, very industriously covered by the +care of the players; for I think scarce a character but received +all the advantage it would admit of from the justness of the +action.</p> +<p>As for the critics, my lord, I have nothing to say to, or +against, any of them of any kind: from those who make just +exceptions, to those who find fault in the wrong place. I +will only make this general answer in behalf of my play (an +answer which Epictetus advises every man to make for himself to +his censurers), viz.: ‘That if they who find some faults in +it, were as intimate with it as I am, they would find a great +many more.’ This is a confession, which I needed not +to have made; but however, I can draw this use from it to my own +advantage: that I think there are no faults in it but what I do +know; which, as I take it, is the first step to an amendment.</p> +<p>Thus I may live in hopes (sometime or other) of making the +town amends; but you, my lord, I never can, though I am ever your +lordship’s most obedient and most humble servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">WILL. CONGREVE.</p> +<h2>TO MR. CONGREVE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> virtue in +pursuit of fame appears,<br /> +And forward shoots the growth beyond the years.<br /> +We timely court the rising hero’s cause,<br /> +And on his side the poet wisely draws,<br /> +Bespeaking him hereafter by applause.<br /> +The days will come, when we shall all receive<br /> +Returning interest from what now we give,<br /> +Instructed and supported by that praise<br /> +And reputation which we strive to raise.<br /> +Nature so coy, so hardly to be wooed,<br /> +Flies, like a mistress, but to be pursued.<br /> +O Congreve! boldly follow on the chase:<br /> +She looks behind and wants thy strong embrace:<br /> +She yields, she yields, surrenders all her charms,<br /> +Do you but force her gently to your arms:<br /> +Such nerves, such graces, in your lines appear,<br /> +As you were made to be her ravisher.<br /> +Dryden has long extended his command,<br /> +By right divine, quite through the muses’ land,<br /> +Absolute lord; and holding now from none,<br /> +But great Apollo, his undoubted crown.<br /> +That empire settled, and grown old in power<br /> +Can wish for nothing but a successor:<br /> +Not to enlarge his limits, but maintain<br /> +Those provinces, which he alone could gain.<br /> +His eldest Wycherly, in wise retreat,<br /> +Thought it not worth his quiet to be great.<br /> +Loose, wand’ring Etherege, in wild pleasures tost,<br /> +And foreign int’rests, to his hopes long lost:<br /> +Poor Lee and Otway dead! Congreve appears,<br /> +The darling, and last comfort of his years.<br /> +May’st thou live long in thy great master’s +smiles,<br /> +And growing under him, adorn these isles.<br /> +But when—when part of him (be that but late)<br /> +His body yielding must submit to fate,<br /> +Leaving his deathless works and thee behind<br /> +(The natural successor of his mind),<br /> +Then may’st thou finish what he has begun:<br /> +Heir to his merit, be in fame his son.<br /> +What thou hast done, shews all is in thy pow’r,<br /> +And to write better, only must write more.<br /> +’Tis something to be willing to commend;<br /> +But my best praise is, that I am your friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">THO. SOUTHERNE.</p> +<h2>TO MR. CONGREVE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> danger’s +great in these censorious days,<br /> +When critics are so rife to venture praise:<br /> +When the infectious and ill-natured brood<br /> +Behold, and damn the work, because ’tis good,<br /> +And with a proud, ungenerous spirit, try<br /> +To pass an ostracism on poetry.<br /> +But you, my friend, your worth does safely bear<br /> +Above their spleen; you have no cause for fear;<br /> +Like a well-mettled hawk, you took your flight<br /> +Quite out of reach, and almost out of sight.<br /> +As the strong sun, in a fair summer’s day,<br /> +You rise, and drive the mists and clouds away,<br /> +The owls and bats, and all the birds of prey.<br /> +Each line of yours, like polished steel’s so hard,<br /> +In beauty safe, it wants no other guard.<br /> +Nature herself’s beholden to your dress,<br /> +Which though still like, much fairer you express.<br /> +Some vainly striving honour to obtain,<br /> +Leave to their heirs the traffic of their brain:<br /> +Like China under ground, the ripening ware,<br /> +In a long time, perhaps grows worth our care.<br /> +But you now reap the fame, so well you’ve sown;<br /> +The planter tastes his fruit to ripeness grown.<br /> +As a fair orange-tree at once is seen<br /> +Big with what’s ripe, yet springing still with green,<br /> +So at one time, my worthy friend appears,<br /> +With all the sap of youth, and weight of years.<br /> +Accept my pious love, as forward zeal,<br /> +Which though it ruins me I can’t conceal:<br /> +Exposed to censure for my weak applause,<br /> +I’m pleased to suffer in so just a cause;<br /> +And though my offering may unworthy prove,<br /> +Take, as a friend, the wishes of my love.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">J. MARSH.</p> +<h2>TO MR. CONGREVE, ON HIS PLAY CALLED<br /> +THE OLD BACHELOR.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wit</span>, like true gold, +refined from all allay,<br /> +Immortal is, and never can decay:<br /> +’Tis in all times and languages the same,<br /> +Nor can an ill translation quench the flame:<br /> +For, though the form and fashion don’t remain,<br /> +The intrinsic value still it will retain.<br /> +Then let each studied scene be writ with art,<br /> +And judgment sweat to form the laboured part.<br /> +Each character be just, and nature seem:<br /> +Without th’ ingredient, wit, ’tis all but phlegm:<br +/> +For that’s the soul, which all the mass must move,<br /> +And wake our passions into grief or love.<br /> +But you, too bounteous, sow your wit so thick,<br /> +We are surprised, and know not where to pick;<br /> +And while with clapping we are just to you,<br /> +Ourselves we injure, and lose something new.<br /> +What mayn’t we then, great youth, of thee presage,<br /> +Whose art and wit so much transcend thy age?<br /> +How wilt thou shine at thy meridian height,<br /> +Who, at thy rising, giv’st so vast a light?<br /> +When Dryden dying shall the world deceive,<br /> +Whom we immortal, as his works, believe,<br /> +Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage,<br /> +Adorn and entertain the coming age.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">BEVIL. HIGGONS.</p> +<h2>PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR THE OLD BACHELOR.<br /> +Written by the <span class="smcap">Lord Falkland</span>.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Most</span> authors on the +stage at first appear<br /> +Like widows’ bridegrooms, full of doubt and fear:<br /> +They judge, from the experience of the dame,<br /> +How hard a task it is to quench her flame;<br /> +And who falls short of furnishing a course<br /> +Up to his brawny predecessor’s force,<br /> +With utmost rage from her embraces thrown,<br /> +Remains convicted as an empty drone.<br /> +Thus often, to his shame, a pert beginner<br /> +Proves in the end a miserable sinner.<br /> + As for our youngster, I am apt to doubt him,<br /> +With all the vigour of his youth about him;<br /> +But he, more sanguine, trusts in one and twenty,<br /> +And impudently hopes he shall content you:<br /> +For though his bachelor be worn and cold,<br /> +He thinks the young may club to help the old,<br /> +And what alone can be achieved by neither,<br /> +Is often brought about by both together.<br /> +The briskest of you all have felt alarms,<br /> +Finding the fair one prostitute her charms<br /> +With broken sighs, in her old fumbler’s arms:<br /> +But for our spark, he swears he’ll ne’er be +jealous<br /> +Of any rivals, but young lusty fellows.<br /> +Faith, let him try his chance, and if the slave,<br /> +After his bragging, prove a washy knave,<br /> +May he be banished to some lonely den<br /> +And never more have leave to dip his pen.<br /> +But if he be the champion he pretends,<br /> +Both sexes sure will join to be his friends,<br /> +For all agree, where all can have their ends.<br /> +And you must own him for a man of might,<br /> +If he holds out to please you the third night.</p> +<h2>PROLOGUE.<br /> +Spoken by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Bracegirdle</span>.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> this vile world +is changed! In former days<br /> +Prologues were serious speeches before plays,<br /> +Grave, solemn things, as graces are to feasts,<br /> +Where poets begged a blessing from their guests.<br /> +But now no more like suppliants we come;<br /> +A play makes war, and prologue is the drum.<br /> +Armed with keen satire and with pointed wit,<br /> +We threaten you who do for judges sit,<br /> +To save our plays, or else we’ll damn your pit.<br /> +But for your comfort, it falls out to-day,<br /> +We’ve a young author and his first-born play;<br /> +So, standing only on his good behaviour,<br /> +He’s very civil, and entreats your favour.<br /> +Not but the man has malice, would he show it,<br /> +But on my conscience he’s a bashful poet;<br /> +You think that strange—no matter, he’ll outgrow +it.<br /> +Well, I’m his advocate: by me he prays you<br /> +(I don’t know whether I shall speak to please you),<br /> +He prays—O bless me! what shall I do now?<br /> +Hang me if I know what he prays, or how!<br /> +And ’twas the prettiest prologue as he wrote it!<br /> +Well, the deuce take me, if I han’t forgot it.<br /> +O Lord, for heav’n’s sake excuse the play,<br /> +Because, you know, if it be damned to-day,<br /> +I shall be hanged for wanting what to say.<br /> +For my sake then—but I’m in such confusion,<br /> +I cannot stay to hear your resolution.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Runs off</i>.]</p> +<h2>DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><h3>MEN.</h3> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, a surly old +bachelor, pretending to slight women, secretly in love with +Silvia</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Betterton.</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, in love with +Belinda</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Powell</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, capricious in his +love; in love with Araminta</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Williams</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sharper</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Verbruggen</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir Joseph Wittol</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Bowen</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Captain Bluffe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Haines.</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, a banker</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Dogget</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Setter</span>, a pimp</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mr. Underhill</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Servant</span> to Fondlewife.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><h3>WOMEN.</h3> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span>, in love with +Vainlove</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mrs. Bracegirdle</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Belinda</span>, her cousin, an +affected lady, in love with Bellmour</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mrs. Mountfort</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, wife to +Fondlewife</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mrs. Barry</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sylvia</span>, Vainlove’s +forsaken mistress</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mrs. Bowman</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lucy</span>, her maid</p> +</td> +<td><p><i>Mrs. Leigh</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Betty</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Boy</span> and <span +class="smcap">Footmen</span>.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: +London.</p> +<h2>ACT I.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vainlove</span> +<i>meeting</i>.</p> +<p>BELL. Vainlove, and abroad so early! Good-morrow; +I thought a contemplative lover could no more have parted with +his bed in a morning than he could have slept in’t.</p> +<p>VAIN. Bellmour, good-morrow. Why, truth on’t +is, these early sallies are not usual to me; but business, as you +see, sir—[<i>Showing Letters</i>.] And business must +be followed, or be lost.</p> +<p>BELL. Business! And so must time, my friend, be +close pursued, or lost. Business is the rub of life, +perverts our aim, casts off the bias, and leaves us wide and +short of the intended mark.</p> +<p>VAIN. Pleasure, I guess you mean.</p> +<p>BELL. Ay; what else has meaning?</p> +<p>VAIN. Oh, the wise will tell you—</p> +<p>BELL. More than they believe—or understand.</p> +<p>VAIN. How, how, Ned! A wise man say more than he +understands?</p> +<p>BELL. Ay, ay! Wisdom’s nothing but a +pretending to know and believe more than we really do. You +read of but one wise man, and all that he knew was, that he knew +nothing. Come, come, leave business to idlers and wisdom to +fools; they have need of ’em. Wit be my faculty, and +pleasure my occupation; and let Father Time shake his +glass. Let low and earthly souls grovel till they have +worked themselves six foot deep into a grave. Business is +not my element—I roll in a higher orb, and dwell—</p> +<p>VAIN. In castles i’ th’ air of thy own +building. That’s thy element, Ned. Well, as +high a flier as you are, I have a lure may make you stoop. +[<i>Flings a Letter</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. I, marry, sir, I have a hawk’s eye at a +woman’s hand. There’s more elegancy in the +false spelling of this superscription [<i>takes up the +Letter</i>] than in all Cicero. Let me see.—How +now!—Dear <i>perfidious Vainlove</i>. +[<i>Reads</i>.]</p> +<p>VAIN. Hold, hold, ’slife, that’s the +wrong.</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, let’s see the +name—Sylvia!—how canst thou be ungrateful to that +creature? She’s extremely pretty, and loves thee +entirely—I have heard her breathe such raptures about +thee—</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay, or anybody that she’s about—</p> +<p>BELL. No, faith, Frank, you wrong her; she has been just +to you.</p> +<p>VAIN. That’s pleasant, by my troth, from thee, who +hast had her.</p> +<p>BELL. Never—her affections. ’Tis true, +by heaven: she owned it to my face; and, blushing like the virgin +morn when it disclosed the cheat which that trusty bawd of +nature, night, had hid, confessed her soul was true to you; +though I by treachery had stolen the bliss.</p> +<p>VAIN. So was true as turtle—in +imagination—Ned, ha? Preach this doctrine to +husbands, and the married women will adore thee.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, faith, I think it will do well enough, if the +husband be out of the way, for the wife to show her fondness and +impatience of his absence by choosing a lover as like him as she +can; and what is unlike, she may help out with her own fancy.</p> +<p>VAIN. But is it not an abuse to the lover to be made a +blind of?</p> +<p>BELL. As you say, the abuse is to the lover, not the +husband. For ’tis an argument of her great zeal +towards him, that she will enjoy him in effigy.</p> +<p>VAIN. It must be a very superstitious country where such +zeal passes for true devotion. I doubt it will be damned by +all our Protestant husbands for flat idolatry. But, if you +can make Alderman Fondlewife of your persuasion, this letter will +be needless.</p> +<p>BELL. What! The old banker with the handsome +wife?</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay.</p> +<p>BELL. Let me see—<i>Lætitia</i>! Oh, +’tis a delicious morsel. Dear Frank, thou art the +truest friend in the world.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay, am I not? To be continually starting of +hares for you to course. We were certainly cut out for one +another; for my temper quits an amour just where thine takes it +up. But read that; it is an appointment for me, this +evening—when Fondlewife will be gone out of town, to meet +the master of a ship, about the return of a venture which +he’s in danger of losing. Read, read.</p> +<p>BELL. [<i>reads</i>.] Hum, Hum—Out of town +this evening, and talks of sending for Mr. Spintext to keep me +company; but I’ll take care he shall not be at home. +Good! Spintext! Oh, the fanatic one-eyed parson!</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay.</p> +<p>BELL. [<i>reads</i>.] Hum, Hum—That your +conversation will be much more agreeable, if you can counterfeit +his habit to blind the servants. Very good! Then I +must be disguised?—With all my heart!—It adds a gusto +to an amour; gives it the greater resemblance of theft; and, +among us lewd mortals, the deeper the sin the sweeter. +Frank, I’m amazed at thy good nature—</p> +<p>VAIN. Faith, I hate love when ’tis forced upon a +man, as I do wine. And this business is none of my seeking; +I only happened to be, once or twice, where Lætitia was the +handsomest woman in company; so, consequently, applied myself to +her—and it seems she has taken me at my word. Had you +been there, or anybody, ’t had been the same.</p> +<p>BELL. I wish I may succeed as the same.</p> +<p>VAIN. Never doubt it; for if the spirit of cuckoldom be +once raised up in a woman, the devil can’t lay it, until +she has done’t.</p> +<p>BELL. Prithee, what sort of fellow is Fondlewife?</p> +<p>VAIN. A kind of mongrel zealot, sometimes very precise +and peevish. But I have seen him pleasant enough in his +way; much addicted to jealousy, but more to fondness; so that as +he is often jealous without a cause, he’s as often +satisfied without reason.</p> +<p>BELL. A very even temper, and fit for my purpose. +I must get your man Setter to provide my disguise.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay; you may take him for good and all, if you +will, for you have made him fit for nobody else. +Well—</p> +<p>BELL. You’re going to visit in return of +Sylvia’s letter. Poor rogue! Any hour of the +day or night will serve her. But do you know nothing of a +new rival there?</p> +<p>VAIN. Yes; Heartwell—that surly, old, pretended +woman-hater—thinks her virtuous; that’s one reason +why I fail her. I would have her fret herself out of +conceit with me, that she may entertain some thoughts of +him. I know he visits her every day.</p> +<p>BELL. Yet rails on still, and thinks his love unknown to +us. A little time will swell him so, he must be forced to +give it birth; and the discovery must needs be very pleasant from +himself, to see what pains he will take, and how he will strain +to be delivered of a secret, when he has miscarried of it +already.</p> +<p>VAIN. Well, good-morrow. Let’s dine +together; I’ll meet at the old place.</p> +<p>BELL. With all my heart. It lies convenient for us +to pay our afternoon services to our mistresses. I find I +am damnably in love, I’m so uneasy for not having seen +Belinda yesterday.</p> +<p>VAIN. But I saw my Araminta, yet am as impatient.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> +<i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, what a cormorant in love am I! Who, not +contented with the slavery of honourable love in one place, and +the pleasure of enjoying some half a score mistresses of my own +acquiring, must yet take Vainlove’s business upon my hands, +because it lay too heavy upon his; so am not only forced to lie +with other men’s wives for ’em, but must also +undertake the harder task of obliging their mistresses. I +must take up, or I shall never hold out. Flesh and blood +cannot bear it always.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To him</i>] <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. I’m sorry to see this, Ned. Once a +man comes to his soliloquies, I give him for gone.</p> +<p>BELL. Sharper, I’m glad to see thee.</p> +<p>SHARP. What! is Belinda cruel, that you are so +thoughtful?</p> +<p>BELL. No, faith, not for that. But there’s a +business of consequence fallen out to-day that requires some +consideration.</p> +<p>SHARP. Prithee, what mighty business of consequence +canst thou have?</p> +<p>BELL. Why, you must know, ’tis a piece of work +toward the finishing of an alderman. It seems I must put +the last hand to it, and dub him cuckold, that he may be of equal +dignity with the rest of his brethren: so I must beg +Belinda’s pardon.</p> +<p>SHARP. Faith, e’en give her over for good and all; +you can have no hopes of getting her for a mistress; and she is +too proud, too inconstant, too affected and too witty, and too +handsome for a wife.</p> +<p>BELL. But she can’t have too much money. +There’s twelve thousand pound, Tom. ’Tis true +she is excessively foppish and affected; but in my conscience I +believe the baggage loves me: for she never speaks well of me +herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me. Then, as I +told you, there’s twelve thousand pound. Hum! +Why, faith, upon second thoughts, she does not appear to be so +very affected neither.—Give her her due, I think the +woman’s a woman, and that’s all. As such, +I’m sure I shall like her; for the devil take me if I +don’t love all the sex.</p> +<p>SHARP. And here comes one who swears as heartily he +hates all the sex.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Who? Heartwell? Ay, but he knows +better things. How now, George, where hast thou been +snarling odious truths, and entertaining company, like a +physician, with discourse of their diseases and +infirmities? What fine lady hast thou been putting out of +conceit with herself, and persuading that the face she had been +making all the morning was none of her own? For I know thou +art as unmannerly and as unwelcome to a woman as a looking-glass +after the smallpox.</p> +<p>HEART. I confess I have not been sneering fulsome lies +and nauseous flattery; fawning upon a little tawdry whore, that +will fawn upon me again, and entertain any puppy that comes, like +a tumbler, with the same tricks over and over. For such, I +guess, may have been your late employment.</p> +<p>BELL. Would thou hadst come a little sooner. +Vainlove would have wrought thy conversion, and been a champion +for the cause.</p> +<p>HEART. What! has he been here? That’s one of +love’s April fools; is always upon some errand that’s +to no purpose; ever embarking in adventures, yet never comes to +harbour.</p> +<p>SHARP. That’s because he always sets out in foul +weather, loves to buffet with the winds, meet the tide, and sail +in the teeth of opposition.</p> +<p>HEART. What! Has he not dropt anchor at +Araminta?</p> +<p>BELL. Truth on’t is she fits his temper best, is a +kind of floating island; sometimes seems in reach, then vanishes +and keeps him busied in the search.</p> +<p>SHARP. She had need have a good share of sense to manage +so capricious a lover.</p> +<p>BELL. Faith I don’t know, he’s of a temper +the most easy to himself in the world; he takes as much always of +an amour as he cares for, and quits it when it grows stale or +unpleasant.</p> +<p>SHARP. An argument of very little passion, very good +understanding, and very ill nature.</p> +<p>HEART. And proves that Vainlove plays the fool with +discretion.</p> +<p>SHARP. You, Bellmour, are bound in gratitude to stickle +for him; you with pleasure reap that fruit, which he takes pains +to sow: he does the drudgery in the mine, and you stamp your +image on the gold.</p> +<p>BELL. He’s of another opinion, and says I do the +drudgery in the mine. Well, we have each our share of +sport, and each that which he likes best; ’tis his +diversion to set, ’tis mine to cover the partridge.</p> +<p>HEART. And it should be mine to let ’em go +again.</p> +<p>SHARP. Not till you had mouthed a little, George. +I think that’s all thou art fit for now.</p> +<p>HEART. Good Mr. Young-Fellow, you’re mistaken; as +able as yourself, and as nimble, too, though I mayn’t have +so much mercury in my limbs; ’tis true, indeed, I +don’t force appetite, but wait the natural call of my lust, +and think it time enough to be lewd after I have had the +temptation.</p> +<p>BELL. Time enough, ay, too soon, I should rather have +expected, from a person of your gravity.</p> +<p>HEART. Yet it is oftentimes too late with some of you +young, termagant, flashy sinners—you have all the guilt of +the intention, and none of the pleasure of the +practice—’tis true you are so eager in pursuit of the +temptation, that you save the devil the trouble of leading you +into it. Nor is it out of discretion that you don’t +swallow that very hook yourselves have baited, but you are cloyed +with the preparative, and what you mean for a whet, turns the +edge of your puny stomachs. Your love is like your courage, +which you show for the first year or two upon all occasions; till +in a little time, being disabled or disarmed, you abate of your +vigour; and that daring blade which was so often drawn, is bound +to the peace for ever after.</p> +<p>BELL. Thou art an old fornicator of a singular good +principle indeed, and art for encouraging youth, that they may be +as wicked as thou art at thy years.</p> +<p>HEART. I am for having everybody be what they pretend to +be: a whoremaster be a whoremaster, and not like Vainlove, kiss a +lap-dog with passion, when it would disgust him from the +lady’s own lips.</p> +<p>BELL. That only happens sometimes, where the dog has the +sweeter breath, for the more cleanly conveyance. But, +George, you must not quarrel with little gallantries of this +nature: women are often won by ’em. Who would refuse +to kiss a lap-dog, if it were preliminary to the lips of his +lady?</p> +<p>SHARP. Or omit playing with her fan, and cooling her if +she were hot, when it might entitle him to the office of warming +her when she should be cold?</p> +<p>BELL. What is it to read a play in a rainy day? +Though you should be now and then interrupted in a witty scene, +and she perhaps preserve her laughter, till the jest were over; +even that may be borne with, considering the reward in +prospect.</p> +<p>HEART. I confess you that are women’s asses bear +greater burdens: are forced to undergo dressing, dancing, +singing, sighing, whining, rhyming, flattering, lying, grinning, +cringing, and the drudgery of loving to boot.</p> +<p>BELL. O brute, the drudgery of loving!</p> +<p>HEART. Ay! Why, to come to love through all these +incumbrances is like coming to an estate overcharged with debts, +which, by the time you have paid, yields no further profit than +what the bare tillage and manuring of the land will produce at +the expense of your own sweat.</p> +<p>BELL. Prithee, how dost thou love?</p> +<p>SHARP. He! He hates the sex.</p> +<p>HEART. So I hate physic too—yet I may love to take +it for my health.</p> +<p>BELL. Well come off, George, if at any time you should +be taken straying.</p> +<p>SHARP. He has need of such an excuse, considering the +present state of his body.</p> +<p>HEART. How d’ye mean?</p> +<p>SHARP. Why, if whoring be purging, as you call it, then, +I may say, marriage is entering into a course of physic.</p> +<p>BELL. How, George! Does the wind blow there?</p> +<p>HEART. It will as soon blow north and by +south—marry, quotha! I hope in heaven I have a +greater portion of grace, and I think I have baited too many of +those traps to be caught in one myself.</p> +<p>BELL. Who the devil would have thee? unless ’twere +an oysterwoman to propagate young fry for Billingsgate—thy +talent will never recommend thee to anything of better +quality.</p> +<p>HEART. My talent is chiefly that of speaking truth, +which I don’t expect should ever recommend me to people of +quality. I thank heaven I have very honestly purchased the +hatred of all the great families in town.</p> +<p>SHARP. And you in return of spleen hate them. But +could you hope to be received into the alliance of a noble +family—</p> +<p>HEART. No; I hope I shall never merit that affliction, +to be punished with a wife of birth, be a stag of the first head +and bear my horns aloft, like one of the supporters of my +wife’s coat. S’death I would not be a Cuckold +to e’er an illustrious whore in England.</p> +<p>BELL. What, not to make your family, man and provide for +your children?</p> +<p>SHARP. For her children, you mean.</p> +<p>HEART. Ay, there you’ve nicked it. +There’s the devil upon devil. Oh, the pride and joy +of heart ’twould be to me to have my son and heir resemble +such a duke; to have a fleering coxcomb scoff and cry, ‘Mr. +your son’s mighty like his Grace, has just his smile and +air of’s face.’ Then replies another, +‘Methinks he has more of the Marquess of such a place about +his nose and eyes, though he has my Lord +what-d’ye-call’s mouth to a tittle.’ Then +I, to put it off as unconcerned, come chuck the infant under the +chin, force a smile, and cry, ‘Ay, the boy takes after his +mother’s relations,’ when the devil and she knows +’tis a little compound of the whole body of nobility.</p> +<p>BELL+SHARP. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>BELL. Well, but, George, I have one question to ask +you—</p> +<p>HEART. Pshaw, I have prattled away my time. I hope +you are in no haste for an answer, for I shan’t stay +now. [<i>Looking on his watch</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, prithee, George—</p> +<p>HEART. No; besides my business, I see a fool coming this +way. Adieu.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, +<span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. What does he mean? Oh, ’tis Sir Joseph +Wittoll with his friend; but I see he has turned the corner and +goes another way.</p> +<p>SHARP. What in the name of wonder is it?</p> +<p>BELL. Why, a fool.</p> +<p>SHARP. ’Tis a tawdry outside.</p> +<p>BELL. And a very beggarly lining—yet he may be +worth your acquaintance; a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may +extract gold from that dirt.</p> +<p>SHARP. Say you so? ’Faith I am as poor as a +chymist, and would be as industrious. But what was he that +followed him? Is not he a dragon that watches those golden +pippins?</p> +<p>BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, +’tis a very peaceful one. I can ensure his anger +dormant; or should he seem to rouse, ’tis but well lashing +him, and he will sleep like a top.</p> +<p>SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney?</p> +<p>BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, +as the image of valour. He calls him his back, and indeed +they are never asunder—yet, last night, I know not by what +mischance, the knight was alone, and had fallen into the hands of +some night-walkers, who, I suppose, would have pillaged +him. But I chanced to come by and rescued him, though I +believe he was heartily frightened; for as soon as ever he was +loose, he ran away without staying to see who had helped him.</p> +<p>SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army?</p> +<p>BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a +soldier, which nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black +gown does atheism. You must know he has been +abroad—went purely to run away from a campaign; enriched +himself with the plunder of a few oaths, and here vents them +against the general, who, slighting men of merit, and preferring +only those of interest, has made him quit the service.</p> +<p>SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own +performance.</p> +<p>BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own +praise—the only implement of a soldier he resembles, like +that, being full of blustering noise and emptiness—</p> +<p>SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten.</p> +<p>BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will +take a drubbing with as little noise as a pulpit cushion.</p> +<p>SHARP. His name, and I have done?</p> +<p>BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded +with a title: he is called Capt. Bluffe.</p> +<p>SHARP. Well, I’ll endeavour his +acquaintance—you steer another course, are bound—</p> +<p class="poetry">For love’s island: I, for the golden +coast.<br /> +May each succeed in what he wishes most.</p> +<h2>ACT II.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sir Joseph +Wittoll</span>, <span class="smcap">Sharper</span> +<i>following</i>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sure that’s he, and alone.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Um—Ay, this, this is the very damned +place; the inhuman cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would +have butchered me last night. No doubt they would have +flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and devoured, etc.</p> +<p>SHARP. How’s this!</p> +<p>SIR JO. An it hadn’t been for a civil gentleman as +came by and frighted ’em away—but, agad, I durst not +stay to give him thanks.</p> +<p>SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I +have a thought—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very +remembrance makes me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to +this place heartily.</p> +<p>SHARP. ’Tis but trying, and being where I am at +worst, now luck!—cursed fortune! this must be the place, +this damned unlucky place—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Agad, and so ’tis. Why, here has +been more mischief done, I perceive.</p> +<p>SHARP. No, ’tis gone, ’tis lost—ten +thousand devils on that chance which drew me hither; ay, here, +just here, this spot to me is hell; nothing to be found, but the +despair of what I’ve lost. [<i>Looking about as in +search</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry +I’ll stay no longer, for I have found too—</p> +<p>SHARP. Ha! who’s that has found? What have +you found? Restore it quickly, or by—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Not I, sir, not I; as I’ve a soul to be +saved, I have found nothing but what has been to my loss, as I +may say, and as you were saying, sir.</p> +<p>SHARP. Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it +seems. ’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good. +Well, you may rejoice over my ill fortune, since it paid the +price of your ransom.</p> +<p>SIR JO. I rejoice! agad, not I, sir: I’m very +sorry for your loss, with all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and +if you did but know me, you’d ne’er say I were so +ill-natured.</p> +<p>SHARP. Know you! Why, can you be so ungrateful to +forget me?</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, forget him! No, no, sir, I +don’t forget you—because I never saw your face +before, agad. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>SHARP. How! [<i>Angrily</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Stay, stay, sir, let me +recollect—he’s a damned angry fellow—I believe +I had better remember him, until I can get out of his sight; but +out of sight out of mind, agad. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. Methought the service I did you last night, sir, +in preserving you from those ruffians, might have taken better +root in your shallow memory.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is +the very gentleman! How shall I make him a return suitable +to the greatness of his merit? I had a pretty thing to that +purpose, if he ha’n’t frighted it out of my +memory. Hem! hem! sir, I most submissively implore your +pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and omission; having +my entire dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of your goodness, +which, like an inundation, will, I hope, totally immerge the +recollection of my error, and leave me floating, in your sight, +upon the full-blown bladders of repentance—by the help of +which, I shall once more hope to swim into your favour. +[<i>Bows</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the +acknowledgment of a gentleman—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Acknowledgment! Sir, I am all over +acknowledgment, and will not stick to show it in the greatest +extremity by night or by day, in sickness or in health, winter or +summer; all seasons and occasions shall testify the reality and +gratitude of your superabundant humble servant, Sir Joseph +Wittoll, knight. Hem! hem!</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir Joseph Wittoll?</p> +<p>SIR JO. The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in +<i>Comitatu</i> Bucks.</p> +<p>SHARP. Is it possible! Then I am happy to have +obliged the mirror of knighthood and pink of courtesie in the +age. Let me embrace you.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, sir!</p> +<p>SHARP. My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with +interest, since it has purchased me the friendship and +acquaintance of the person in the world whose character I +admire.</p> +<p>SIR JO. You are only pleased to say so, sir. But, +pray, if I may be so bold, what is that loss you mention?</p> +<p>SHARP. Oh, term it no longer so, sir. In the +scuffle last night I only dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, +I confess, I came half despairing to recover; but, thanks to my +better fortune—</p> +<p>SIR JO. You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I +profess I’m heartily glad—</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir, your humble servant. I don’t +question but you are, that you have so cheap an opportunity of +expressing your gratitude and generosity, since the paying so +trivial a sum will wholly acquit you and doubly engage me.</p> +<p>SIR JO. What a dickens does he mean by a trivial +sum? [<i>Aside</i>.] But ha’n’t you found +it, sir!</p> +<p>SHARP. No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in +you, sir.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Humh.</p> +<p>SHARP. But that’s sufficient. ’Twere +injustice to doubt the honour of Sir Joseph Wittoll.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, sir.</p> +<p>SHARP. You are above, I’m sure, a thought so low, +to suffer me to lose what was ventured in your service; nay, +’twas in a manner paid down for your deliverance; +’twas so much lent you. And you scorn, I’ll say +that for you—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, I’ll say that for myself, with your +leave, sir, I do scorn a dirty thing. But, agad, I’m +a little out of pocket at present.</p> +<p>SHARP. Pshaw, you can’t want a hundred +pound. Your word is sufficient anywhere. ’Tis +but borrowing so much dirt. You have large acres, and can +soon repay it. Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph—mere +dirt.</p> +<p>SIR JO. But, I profess, ’tis a dirt I have washed +my hands of at present; I have laid it all out upon my Back.</p> +<p>SHARP. Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir +Joseph?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, +ha, a very good jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and +that’s a better jest than t’other. ’Tis a +sign you and I ha’n’t been long acquainted; you have +lost a good jest for want of knowing me—I only mean a +friend of mine whom I call my Back; he sticks as close to me, and +follows me through all dangers—he is indeed back, breast, +and head-piece, as it were, to me. Agad, he’s a brave +fellow. Pauh, I am quite another thing when I am with him: +I don’t fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by. +Ah! had he been with me last night—</p> +<p>SHARP. If he had, sir, what then? he could have done no +more, nor perhaps have suffered so much. Had he a hundred +pound to lose? [<i>Angrily</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved +a hundred pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir +(a damned hot fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all +my ready money to redeem his great sword from limbo. But, +sir, I have a letter of credit to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as +two hundred pound, and this afternoon you shall see I am a +person, such a one as you would wish to have met with—</p> +<p>SHARP. That you are, I’ll be sworn. +[<i>Aside</i>.] Why, that’s great and like +yourself.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Captain Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Oh, here a’ comes—Ay, my Hector of +Troy, welcome, my bully, my Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit +pat for thee.</p> +<p>BLUFF. How now, my young knight? Not for fear, I +hope; he that knows me must be a stranger to fear.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to +have died of a fright. But—</p> +<p>BLUFF. But? Look you here, boy, here’s your +antidote, here’s your Jesuits’ powder for a shaking +fit. But who hast thou got with thee? is he of +mettle? [<i>Laying his hand upon his sword</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: ’a +will fight like a cock.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Say you so? Then I honour him. But +has he been abroad? for every cock will fight upon his own +dunghill.</p> +<p>SIR JO. I don’t know, but I’ll present +you—</p> +<p>BLUFF. I’ll recommend myself. Sir, I honour +you; I understand you love fighting, I reverence a man that loves +fighting. Sir, I kiss your hilts.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, +unless it be to serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, +my country, or my religion, or in some very justifiable cause, +I’m not for it.</p> +<p>BLUFF. O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are +not of my palate: you can’t relish a dish of fighting +without sweet sauce. Now, I think fighting for fighting +sake’s sufficient cause; fighting to me’s religion +and the laws.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir? +by the Lord Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and +cloth to him. But, Back, this gentleman is one of the best +friends I have in the world, and saved my life last +night—you know I told you.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Ay! Then I honour him again. Sir, may +I crave your name?</p> +<p>SHARP. Ay, sir, my name’s Sharper.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very +well. By the Lord Harry, Mr. Sharper, he’s as brave a +fellow as Cannibal, are not you, Bully-Back?</p> +<p>SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a +very pretty fellow—but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are +odious—Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it +must be granted—but alas, sir! were he alive now, he would +be nothing, nothing in the earth.</p> +<p>SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at +this day a greater general breathing.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, +sir?</p> +<p>SHARP. Not I, really, sir.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know +nothing, sir: I am afraid you scarce know the history of the late +war in Flanders, with all its particulars.</p> +<p>SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or +gazettes tell us.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, +sir, there are not three words of truth the year round put into +the Gazette. I’ll tell you a strange thing now as to +that. You must know, sir, I was resident in Flanders the +last campaign, had a small post there, but no matter for +that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of moment +done but an humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, was +an eye-witness of. I won’t say had the greatest share +in’t, though I might say that too, since I name nobody you +know. Well, Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In all +this time, as I hope for a truncheon, this rascally +gazette-writer never so much as once mentioned me—not once, +by the wars—took no more notice than as if Nol. Bluffe had +not been in the land of the living.</p> +<p>SHARP. Strange!</p> +<p>SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, ’tis true, Mr. +Sharper, for I went every day to coffee-houses to read the +gazette myself.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, +after all I am content to retire; live a private person. +Scipio and others have done it.</p> +<p>SHARP. Impudent rogue. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if +he would put in for’t he might be made general himself +yet.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate +this.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you +ate fire once out of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; +those impenetrable whiskers of his have confronted +flames—</p> +<p>BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he’s so +modest he’ll own nothing.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I +was about. Pray hold your tongue, and give me leave. +[<i>Angrily</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. I am dumb.</p> +<p>BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. +Sharper. This sword I’ll maintain to be the best +divine, anatomist, lawyer, or casuist in Europe; it shall decide +a controversy or split a cause—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by +the Lord Harry, I have seen it.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it’s a lie; you have not seen +it, nor sha’n’t see it; sir, I say you can’t +see; what d’ye say to that now?</p> +<p>SIR JO. I am blind.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted +me—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look +that way.</p> +<p>SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph’s penitent.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged +culverin. But ’twas indiscreet, when you know what +will provoke me. Nay, come, Sir Joseph, you know my +heat’s soon over.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I’m +sorry.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Enough.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Come, we’ll go take a glass to drown +animosities. Mr. Sharper, will you partake?</p> +<p>SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you +are Sir Joseph’s back.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span class="smcap">Betty</span> +<i>waiting</i>, <i>in Araminta’s apartment</i>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, +no more. O Gad! I swear you’d make one sick to +hear you.</p> +<p>ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus?</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in +commendation of that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature +man. You don’t know what you’ve said; your +fever has transported you.</p> +<p>ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven +avert the cure. Let me have oil to feed that flame, and +never let it be extinct till I myself am ashes.</p> +<p>BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your +horrid fancy. This love is the devil, and, sure, to be in +love is to be possessed. ’Tis in the head, the heart, +the blood, the—all over. O Gad, you are quite +spoiled. I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your +sake.</p> +<p>ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of +Bellmour’s company would change the scene.</p> +<p>BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin—</p> +<p>ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don’t +perceive you love him.</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, +love a man!</p> +<p>ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast.</p> +<p>BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass—which is so like +your Vainlove. Lard, I have seen an ass look so chagrin, +ha, ha, ha (you must pardon me, I can’t help laughing), +that an absolute lover would have concluded the poor creature to +have had darts, and flames, and altars, and all that in his +breast. Araminta, come, I’ll talk seriously to you +now; could you but see with my eyes the buffoonery of one scene +of address, a lover, set out with all his equipage and +appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would—But you play the +game, and consequently can’t see the miscarriages obvious +to every stander by.</p> +<p>ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and +Bellmour meet. You don’t know that you dreamt of +Bellmour last night, and called him aloud in your sleep.</p> +<p>BELIN. Pish, I can’t help dreaming of the devil +sometimes; would you from thence infer I love him?</p> +<p>ARAM. But that’s not all; you caught me in your +arms when you named him, and pressed me to your bosom. +Sure, if I had not pinched you until you waked, you had stifled +me with kisses.</p> +<p>BELIN. O barbarous aspersion!</p> +<p>ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I +can tell you more.</p> +<p>BELIN. I deny it all.</p> +<p>ARAM. What, before you hear it?</p> +<p>BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. +Lard, cousin, you talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my +Sol, I’m afraid you’ll follow evil courses.</p> +<p>ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant.</p> +<p>BELIN. You may laugh, but—</p> +<p>ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. +The devil take Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him?</p> +<p>ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am +sure you love him. I tell nobody else, cousin. I have +not betrayed you yet.</p> +<p>BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it’s +false.</p> +<p>ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends.</p> +<p>BELIN. Pish.</p> +<p>ARAM. Prithee don’t be so peevish.</p> +<p>BELIN. Prithee don’t be so impertinent. +Betty!</p> +<p>ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam?</p> +<p>BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call +a chair.</p> +<p>ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, +cousin.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Footman</span>.</p> +<p>FOOT. Madam, there are—</p> +<p>BELIN. Is there a chair?</p> +<p>FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove +to wait upon your ladyship.</p> +<p>ARAM. Are they below?</p> +<p>FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were +at home.</p> +<p>BELIN. The visit’s to you, cousin; I suppose I am +at my liberty.</p> +<p>ARAM. Be ready to show ’em up.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Betty</span>, <i>with Hoods and +Looking-glass</i>.</p> +<p>I can’t tell, cousin; I believe we are equally +concerned. But if you continue your humour, it won’t +be very entertaining. (I know she’d fain be persuaded +to stay.) [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full +and free enjoyment of that conversation you admire.</p> +<p>BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look +wretchedly to-day!</p> +<p>ARAM. Betty, why don’t you help my cousin? +[<i>Putting on her hoods</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair +with a high roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, +you Mrs. Fidget—you are so ready to go to the +footman. Here, take ’em all again, my mind’s +changed; I won’t go.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>.</p> +<p>ARAM. So, this I expected. You won’t oblige +me, then, cousin, and let me have all the company to myself?</p> +<p>BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to +trust you to yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; +and in this favourable disposition of your mind, heaven knows how +far you may be tempted: I am tender of your reputation.</p> +<p>ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who’s +malicious now, Belinda?</p> +<p>BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure +affection.</p> +<p>ARAM. In my conscience I believe you.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Footman</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both +within, ladies, is—</p> +<p>ARAM. No miracle, I hope.</p> +<p>BELL. Not o’ your side, madam, I confess. +But my tyrant there and I, are two buckets that can never come +together.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and +clash.</p> +<p>BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But +this it is to run so extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such +a world of love in your service, that you think you can never be +able to pay me all. So shun me for the same reason that you +would a dun.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent +and troublesome of duns—a dun for money will be quiet, when +he sees his debtor has not wherewithal. But a dun for love +is an eternal torment that never rests—</p> +<p>BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, +and then gets it for his pains. For importunity in love, +like importunity at Court, first creates its own interest and +then pursues it for the favour.</p> +<p>ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, +are like discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, +for his ease, sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing +of.</p> +<p>VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be +due rewards to indefatigable devotion. For as love is a +deity, he must be served by prayer.</p> +<p>BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, +and let us alone.</p> +<p>VAIN. You are the temples of love, and ’tis +through you, our devotion must be conveyed.</p> +<p>ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which +upon the least displeasure you forsake and set up new. +Every man now changes his mistress and his religion as his humour +varies, or his interest.</p> +<p>VAIN. O madam—</p> +<p>ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then +we are in great danger of being dull. If my music-master be +not gone, I’ll entertain you with a new song, which comes +pretty near my own opinion of love and your sex. +Who’s there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? +[<i>Calls</i>.]</p> +<p>FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I’ll +call him.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, you won’t hear me with patience.</p> +<p>ARAM. What’s the matter, cousin?</p> +<p>BELL. Nothing, madam, only—</p> +<p>BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so +pestered me with flames and stuff, I think I sha’n’t +endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth.</p> +<p>BELL. Yet all can’t melt that cruel frozen +heart.</p> +<p>BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy—you said +that once before—if you must talk impertinently, for +Heaven’s sake let it be with variety; don’t come +always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. I’ll not +hear a sentence more, that begins with an ‘I +burn’—or an ‘I beseech you, madam.’</p> +<p>BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am +very tractable.</p> +<p>BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence.</p> +<p>BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the +talk to yourself. You had better let me speak; for if my +thoughts fly to any pitch, I shall make villainous signs.</p> +<p>BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as +I won’t understand?</p> +<p>BELL. Ay, but if I’m tongue-tied, I must have all +my actions free to—quicken your apprehension—and +I—gad let me tell you, my most prevailing argument is +expressed in dumb show.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Music-Master</span>.</p> +<p>ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the +discourse. Pray oblige us with the last new song.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SONG.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus to a ripe, consenting maid,<br /> +Poor, old, repenting Delia said,<br /> +Would you long preserve your lover?<br /> + Would you still his goddess reign?<br /> +Never let him all discover,<br /> + Never let him much obtain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II.</p> +<p class="poetry">Men will admire, adore and die,<br /> +While wishing at your feet they lie:<br /> +But admitting their embraces,<br /> + Wakes ’em from the golden dream;<br /> +Nothing’s new besides our faces,<br /> + Every woman is the same.</p> +<p>ARAM. So, how de’e like the song, gentlemen?</p> +<p>BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don’t much +admire the words.</p> +<p>ARAM. I expected it; there’s too much truth in +’em. If Mr. Gavot will walk with us in the garden, +we’ll have it once again; you may like it better at second +hearing. You’ll bring my cousin.</p> +<p>BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but +I’ll make signs. [<i>Addresses Belinda in dumb +show</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous +than your talking impertinence, as an ape is a much more +troublesome animal than a parrot.</p> +<p>ARAM. Ay, cousin, and ’tis a sign the creatures +mimic nature well; for there are few men but do more silly things +than they say.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for +my speech, and set it at liberty—though, I confess, I could +be well enough pleased to drive on a love-bargain in that silent +manner—’twould save a man a world of lying and +swearing at the year’s end. Besides, I have had a +little experience, that brings to mind—</p> +<p class="poetry">When wit and reason both have failed to +move;<br /> +Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove,<br /> +Ev’n silence may be eloquent in love.</p> +<h2>ACT III.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Silvia</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>SILV. Will he not come, then?</p> +<p>LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in +and be ready to receive him.</p> +<p>SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you?</p> +<p>LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell.</p> +<p>SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove.</p> +<p>LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own +maiden-head as his love. Therefore, e’en set your +heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity mind your own +business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait’s +worn off the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly +yesterday, and no doubt will be eager enough to-day to swallow +the temptation.</p> +<p>SILV. Well, since there’s no remedy—yet tell +me—for I would know, though to the anguish of my soul, how +did he refuse? Tell me, how did he receive my +letter—in anger or in scorn?</p> +<p>LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned +senseless indifference. By this light I could have spit in +his face. Receive it! Why, he received it as I would +one of your lovers that should come empty-handed; as a court lord +does his mercer’s bill or a begging dedication—he +received it as if ’t had been a letter from his wife.</p> +<p>SILV. What! did he not read it?</p> +<p>LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he +would take time to peruse it—but then he was in haste.</p> +<p>SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He’s gone, +and Araminta has bewitched him from me. Oh, how the name of +rival fires my blood. I could curse ’em both; eternal +jealousy attend her love, and disappointment meet his. Oh +that I could revenge the torment he has caused; methinks I feel +the woman strong within me, and vengeance kindles in the room of +love.</p> +<p>LUCY. I have that in my head may make mischief.</p> +<p>SILV. How, dear Lucy?</p> +<p>LUCY. You know Araminta’s dissembled coyness has +won, and keeps him hers—</p> +<p>SILV. Could we persuade him that she loves +another—</p> +<p>LUCY. No, you’re out; could we persuade him that +she dotes on him, himself. Contrive a kind letter as from +her, ’twould disgust his nicety, and take away his +stomach.</p> +<p>SILV. Impossible; ’twill never take.</p> +<p>LUCY. Trouble not your head. Let me alone—I +will inform myself of what passed between ’em to-day, and +about it straight. Hold, I’m mistaken, or +that’s Heartwell, who stands talking at the +corner—’tis he—go get you in, madam, receive +him pleasantly, dress up your face in innocence and smiles, and +dissemble the very want of dissimulation. You know what +will take him.</p> +<p>SILV. ’Tis as hard to counterfeit love as it is to +conceal it: but I’ll do my weak endeavour, though I fear I +have not art.</p> +<p>LUCY. Hang art, madam, and trust to nature for +dissembling.</p> +<p class="poetry">Man was by nature woman’s cully made:<br +/> +We never are but by ourselves betrayed.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>following</i>.</p> +<p>BELL. Hist, hist, is not that Heartwell going to +Silvia?</p> +<p>VAIN. He’s talking to himself, I think; prithee +let’s try if we can hear him.</p> +<p>HEART. Why, whither in the devil’s name am I +agoing now? Hum—let me think—is not this +Silvia’s house, the cave of that enchantress, and which +consequently I ought to shun as I would infection? To enter +here is to put on the envenomed shirt, to run into the embraces +of a fever, and in some raving fit, be led to plunge myself into +that more consuming fire, a woman’s arms. Ha! well +recollected, I will recover my reason, and be gone.</p> +<p>BELL. Now Venus forbid!</p> +<p>VAIN. Hush—</p> +<p>HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your +office—not one inch; no, fore Gad I’m caught. +There stands my north, and thither my needle points. Now +could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O thou delicious, +damned, dear, destructive woman! S’death, how the +young fellows will hoot me! I shall be the jest of the +town: nay, in two days I expect to be chronicled in ditty, and +sung in woful ballad, to the tune of the Superannuated +Maiden’s Comfort, or the Bachelor’s Fall; and upon +the third, I shall be hanged in effigy, pasted up for the +exemplary ornament of necessary houses and cobblers’ +stalls. Death, I can’t think +on’t—I’ll run into the danger to lose the +apprehension.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, +ha, poor George, thou art i’ th’ right, thou hast +sold thyself to laughter; the ill-natured town will find the jest +just where thou hast lost it. Ha, ha, how a’ +struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees.</p> +<p>VAIN. Or a young wench between pleasure and +reputation.</p> +<p>BELL. Or as you did to-day, when half afraid you +snatched a kiss from Araminta.</p> +<p>VAIN. She has made a quarrel on’t.</p> +<p>BELL. Pauh, women are only angry at such offences to +have the pleasure of forgiving them.</p> +<p>VAIN. And I love to have the pleasure of making my +peace. I should not esteem a pardon if too easily won.</p> +<p>BELL. Thou dost not know what thou wouldst be at; +whether thou wouldst have her angry or pleased. Couldst +thou be content to marry Araminta?</p> +<p>VAIN. Could you be content to go to heaven?</p> +<p>BELL. Hum, not immediately, in my conscience not +heartily. I’d do a little more good in my generation +first, in order to deserve it.</p> +<p>VAIN. Nor I to marry Araminta till I merit her.</p> +<p>BELL. But how the devil dost thou expect to get her if +she never yield?</p> +<p>VAIN. That’s true; but I would—</p> +<p>BELL. Marry her without her consent; thou ’rt a +riddle beyond woman—</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>Trusty Setter, what tidings? How goes the project?</p> +<p>SETTER. As all lewd projects do, sir, where the devil +prevents our endeavours with success.</p> +<p>BELL. A good hearing, Setter.</p> +<p>VAIN. Well, I’ll leave you with your engineer.</p> +<p>BELL. And hast thou provided necessaries?</p> +<p>SETTER. All, all, sir; the large sanctified hat, and the +little precise band, with a swinging long spiritual cloak, to +cover carnal knavery—not forgetting the black patch, which +Tribulation Spintext wears, as I’m informed, upon one eye, +as a penal mourning for the ogling offences of his youth; and +some say, with that eye he first discovered the frailty of his +wife.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, in this fanatic father’s habit will I +confess Lætitia.</p> +<p>SETTER. Rather prepare her for confession, sir, by +helping her to sin.</p> +<p>BELL. Be at your master’s lodging in the evening; +I shall use the robes.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Setter</span> +<i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>SETTER. I shall, sir. I wonder to which of these +two gentlemen I do most properly appertain: the one uses me as +his attendant; the other (being the better acquainted with my +parts) employs me as a pimp; why, that’s much the more +honourable employment—by all means. I follow one as +my master, the other follows me as his conductor.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To him</i>] <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>LUCY. There’s the hang-dog, his man—I had a +power over him in the reign of my mistress; but he is too true a +<i>Valet de Chambre</i> not to affect his master’s faults, +and consequently is revolted from his allegiance.</p> +<p>SETTER. Undoubtedly ’tis impossible to be a pimp +and not a man of parts. That is without being politic, +diligent, secret, wary, and so forth—and to all this +valiant as Hercules—that is, passively valiant and actively +obedient. Ah, Setter, what a treasure is here lost for want +of being known.</p> +<p>LUCY. Here’s some villainy afoot; he’s so +thoughtful. May be I may discover something in my +mask. Worthy sir, a word with you. [<i>Puts on her +mask</i>.]</p> +<p>SETTER. Why, if I were known, I might come to be a great +man—</p> +<p>LUCY. Not to interrupt your meditation—</p> +<p>SETTER. And I should not be the first that has procured +his greatness by pimping.</p> +<p>LUCY. Now poverty and the pox light upon thee for a +contemplative pimp.</p> +<p>SETTER. Ha! what art who thus maliciously hast awakened +me from my dream of glory? Speak, thou vile +disturber—</p> +<p>LUCY. Of thy most vile cogitations—thou poor, +conceited wretch, how wert thou valuing thyself upon thy +master’s employment? For he’s the head pimp to +Mr. Bellmour.</p> +<p>SETTER. Good words, damsel, or I shall—But how +dost thou know my master or me?</p> +<p>LUCY. Yes; I know both master and man to be—</p> +<p>SETTER. To be men, perhaps; nay, faith, like enough: I +often march in the rear of my master, and enter the breaches +which he has made.</p> +<p>LUCY. Ay, the breach of faith, which he has begun: thou +traitor to thy lawful princess.</p> +<p>SETTER. Why, how now! prithee who art? Lay by that +worldly face and produce your natural vizor.</p> +<p>LUCY. No, sirrah, I’ll keep it on to abuse thee +and leave thee without hopes of revenge.</p> +<p>SETTER. Oh! I begin to smoke ye: thou art some +forsaken Abigail we have dallied with heretofore—and art +come to tickle thy imagination with remembrance of iniquity +past.</p> +<p>LUCY. No thou pitiful flatterer of thy master’s +imperfections; thou maukin made up of the shreds and parings of +his superfluous fopperies.</p> +<p>SETTER. Thou art thy mistress’s foul self, +composed of her sullied iniquities and clothing.</p> +<p>LUCY. Hang thee, beggar’s cur, thy master is but a +mumper in love, lies canting at the gate; but never dares presume +to enter the house.</p> +<p>SETTER. Thou art the wicket to thy mistress’s +gate, to be opened for all comers. In fine thou art the +highroad to thy mistress.</p> +<p>LUCY. Beast, filthy toad, I can hold no longer, look and +tremble. [<i>Unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SETTER. How, Mrs. Lucy!</p> +<p>LUCY. I wonder thou hast the impudence to look me in the +face.</p> +<p>SETTER. Adsbud, who’s in fault, mistress of mine? +who flung the first stone? who undervalued my function? and who +the devil could know you by instinct?</p> +<p>LUCY. You could know my office by instinct, and be +hanged, which you have slandered most abominably. It vexes +me not what you said of my person; but that my innocent calling +should be exposed and scandalised—I cannot bear it.</p> +<p>SETTER. Nay, faith, Lucy, I’m sorry, I’ll +own myself to blame, though we were both in fault as to our +offices—come, I’ll make you any reparation.</p> +<p>LUCY. Swear.</p> +<p>SETTER. I do swear to the utmost of my power.</p> +<p>LUCY. To be brief, then; what is the reason your master +did not appear to-day according to the summons I brought him?</p> +<p>SETTER. To answer you as briefly—he has a cause to +be tried in another court.</p> +<p>LUCY. Come, tell me in plain terms, how forward he is +with Araminta.</p> +<p>SETTER. Too forward to be turned back—though +he’s a little in disgrace at present about a kiss which he +forced. You and I can kiss, Lucy, without all that.</p> +<p>LUCY. Stand off—he’s a precious jewel.</p> +<p>SETTER. And therefore you’d have him to set in +your lady’s locket.</p> +<p>LUCY. Where is he now?</p> +<p>SETTER. He’ll be in the Piazza presently.</p> +<p>LUCY. Remember to-day’s behaviour. Let me +see you with a penitent face.</p> +<p>SETTER. What, no token of amity, Lucy? You and I +don’t use to part with dry lips.</p> +<p>LUCY. No, no, avaunt—I’ll not be slabbered +and kissed now—I’m not i’ th’ humour.</p> +<p>SETTER. I’ll not quit you so. I’ll +follow and put you into the humour.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sir Joseph +Wittoll</span>, <span class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>BLUFF. And so, out of your unwonted +generosity—</p> +<p>SIR JO. And good-nature, Back; I am good-natured and I +can’t help it.</p> +<p>BLUFF. You have given him a note upon Fondlewife for a +hundred pound.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, ay, poor fellow; he ventured fair +for’t.</p> +<p>BLUFF. You have disobliged me in it—for I have +occasion for the money, and if you would look me in the face +again and live, go, and force him to redeliver you the +note. Go, and bring it me hither. I’ll stay +here for you.</p> +<p>SIR JO. You may stay until the day of judgment, then, by +the Lord Harry. I know better things than to be run through +the guts for a hundred pounds. Why, I gave that hundred +pound for being saved, and de’e think, an there were no +danger, I’ll be so ungrateful to take it from the gentleman +again?</p> +<p>BLUFF. Well, go to him from me—tell him, I say, he +must refund—or Bilbo’s the world, and slaughter will +ensue. If he refuse, tell him—but whisper +that—tell him—I’ll pink his soul. But +whisper that softly to him.</p> +<p>SIR JO. So softly that he shall never hear on’t, I +warrant you. Why, what a devil’s the matter, Bully; +are you mad? or de’e think I’m mad? Agad, for +my part, I don’t love to be the messenger of ill news; +’tis an ungrateful office—so tell him yourself.</p> +<p>BLUFF. By these hilts I believe he frightened you into +this composition: I believe you gave it him out of fear, pure, +paltry fear—confess.</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, no, hang’t; I was not afraid +neither—though I confess he did in a manner snap me +up—yet I can’t say that it was altogether out of +fear, but partly to prevent mischief—for he was a devilish +choleric fellow. And if my choler had been up too, agad, +there would have been mischief done, that’s flat. And +yet I believe if you had been by, I would as soon have let him +a’ had a hundred of my teeth. Adsheart, if he should +come just now when I’m angry, I’d tell +him—Mum.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Thou ’rt a lucky rogue; there’s your +benefactor; you ought to return him thanks now you have received +the favour.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir Joseph! Your note was accepted, and the +money paid at sight. I’m come to return my +thanks—</p> +<p>SIR JO. They won’t be accepted so readily as the +bill, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. I doubt the knight repents, Tom. He looks +like the knight of the sorrowful face.</p> +<p>SHARP. This is a double generosity: do me a kindness and +refuse my thanks. But I hope you are not offended that I +offered them.</p> +<p>SIR JO. May be I am, sir, may be I am not, sir, may be I +am both, sir; what then? I hope I may be offended without +any offence to you, sir.</p> +<p>SHARP. Hey day! Captain, what’s the +matter? You can tell.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Mr. Sharper, the matter is plain: Sir Joseph has +found out your trick, and does not care to be put upon, being a +man of honour.</p> +<p>SHARP. Trick, sir?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, trick, sir, and won’t be put upon, +sir, being a man of honour, sir, and so, sir—</p> +<p>SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In +consideration of some favours lately received, I would not have +you draw yourself into a <i>premunire</i>, by trusting to that +sign of a man there—that pot-gun charged with wind.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify +yourself—I’ll give him the lie if you’ll stand +to it.</p> +<p>SHARP. Nay, then, I’ll be beforehand with you, +take that, oaf. [<i>Cuffs him</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won’t +you pink his soul?</p> +<p>BLUFF. Husht, ’tis not so convenient now—I +shall find a time.</p> +<p>SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? +You were the incendiary. There’s to put you in mind +of your time.—A memorandum. [<i>Kicks him</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use +on’t.</p> +<p>SHARP. I—Gad and so I will: there’s again +for you. [<i>Kicks him</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a +place to thank you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen +again?</p> +<p>SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be +felt—as for example. [<i>Kicks him</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; ’tis +scandalous to kick this puppy unless a man were cold and had no +other way to get himself aheat.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>, <span class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Very well—very fine—but ’tis no +matter. Is not this fine, Sir Joseph?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very +indifferent. I’d rather go plain all my life than +wear such finery.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Death and hell to be affronted thus! +I’ll die before I’ll suffer it. +[<i>Draws</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. +Nay, dear Captain, don’t be in passion now he’s +gone. Put up, put up, dear Back, ’tis your Sir Joseph +begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up.</p> +<p>BLUFF. By heaven, ’tis not to be put up.</p> +<p>SIR JO. What, Bully?</p> +<p>BLUFF. The affront.</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, aged, no more ’tis, for that’s +put up all already; thy sword, I mean.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty—But were +not you, my friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked? +[<i>Putting up his sword</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, ’tis +past.</p> +<p>BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, ’tis +false—he sucks not vital air who dares affirm it to this +face. [<i>Looks big</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, +I grant you—not to that face, by the Lord Harry. If +you had put on your fighting face before, you had done his +business—he durst as soon have kissed you, as kicked you to +your face. But a man can no more help what’s done +behind his back than what’s said—Come, we’ll +think no more of what’s past.</p> +<p>BLUFF. I’ll call a council of war within to +consider of my revenge to come.</p> +<h3>SCENE X.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Silvia</span>. <i>Silvia’s +apartment</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SONG.</p> +<p class="poetry">As Amoret and Thyrsis lay<br /> +Melting the hours in gentle play,<br /> +Joining faces, mingling kisses,<br /> +And exchanging harmless blisses:<br /> +He trembling cried, with eager haste,<br /> +O let me feed as well as taste,<br /> +I die, if I’m not wholly blest.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>After the song a dance of +antics</i>.]</p> +<p>SILV. Indeed it is very fine. I could look upon +’em all day.</p> +<p>HEART. Well has this prevailed for me, and will you look +upon me?</p> +<p>SILV. If you could sing and dance so, I should love to +look upon you too.</p> +<p>HEART. Why, ’twas I sung and danced; I gave music +to the voice, and life to their measures. Look you here, +Silvia, [<i>pulling out a purse and chinking it</i>] here are +songs and dances, poetry and music—hark! how sweetly one +guinea rhymes to another—and how they dance to the music of +their own chink. This buys all t’other—and this +thou shalt have; this, and all that I am worth, for the purchase +of thy love. Say, is it mine then, ha? Speak, +Syren—Oons, why do I look on her! Yet I must. +Speak, dear angel, devil, saint, witch; do not rack me with +suspense.</p> +<p>SILV. Nay, don’t stare at me so. You make me +blush—I cannot look.</p> +<p>HEART. O manhood, where art thou? What am I come +to? A woman’s toy, at these years! Death, a +bearded baby for a girl to dandle. O dotage, dotage! +That ever that noble passion, lust, should ebb to this +degree. No reflux of vigorous blood: but milky love +supplies the empty channels; and prompts me to the softness of a +child—a mere infant and would suck. Can you love me, +Silvia? Speak.</p> +<p>SILV. I dare not speak until I believe you, and indeed +I’m afraid to believe you yet.</p> +<p>HEART. Death, how her innocence torments and pleases +me! Lying, child, is indeed the art of love, and men are +generally masters in it: but I’m so newly entered, you +cannot distrust me of any skill in the treacherous mystery. +Now, by my soul, I cannot lie, though it were to serve a friend +or gain a mistress.</p> +<p>SILV. Must you lie, then, if you say you love me?</p> +<p>HEART. No, no, dear ignorance, thou beauteous +changeling—I tell thee I do love thee, and tell it for a +truth, a naked truth, which I’m ashamed to discover.</p> +<p>SILV. But love, they say, is a tender thing, that will +smooth frowns, and make calm an angry face; will soften a rugged +temper, and make ill-humoured people good. You look ready +to fright one, and talk as if your passion were not love, but +anger.</p> +<p>HEART. ’Tis both; for I am angry with myself when +I am pleased with you. And a pox upon me for loving thee so +well—yet I must on. ’Tis a bearded arrow, and +will more easily be thrust forward than drawn back.</p> +<p>SILV. Indeed, if I were well assured you loved; but how +can I be well assured?</p> +<p>HEART. Take the symptoms—and ask all the tyrants +of thy sex if their fools are not known by this party-coloured +livery. I am melancholic when thou art absent; look like an +ass when thou art present; wake for thee when I should sleep; and +even dream of thee when I am awake; sigh much, drink little, eat +less, court solitude, am grown very entertaining to myself, and +(as I am informed) very troublesome to everybody else. If +this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable. +Nay, yet a more certain sign than all this, I give thee my +money.</p> +<p>SILV. Ay, but that is no sign; for they say, gentlemen +will give money to any naughty woman to come to bed to +them. O Gemini, I hope you don’t mean so—for I +won’t be a whore.</p> +<p>HEART. The more is the pity. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SILV. Nay, if you would marry me, you should not come to +bed to me—you have such a beard, and would so prickle +one. But do you intend to marry me?</p> +<p>HEART. That a fool should ask such a malicious +question! Death, I shall be drawn in before I know where I +am. However, I find I am pretty sure of her consent, if I +am put to it. [<i>Aside</i>.] Marry you? No, +no, I’ll love you.</p> +<p>SILV. Nay, but if you love me, you must marry me. +What, don’t I know my father loved my mother and was +married to her?</p> +<p>HEART. Ay, ay, in old days people married where they +loved; but that fashion is changed, child.</p> +<p>SILV. Never tell me that; I know it is not changed by +myself: for I love you, and would marry you.</p> +<p>HEART. I’ll have my beard shaved, it +sha’n’t hurt thee, and we’ll go to +bed—</p> +<p>SILV. No, no, I’m not such a fool neither, but I +can keep myself honest. Here, I won’t keep anything +that’s yours; I hate you now, [<i>throws the purse</i>] and +I’ll never see you again, ’cause you’d have me +be naught. [<i>Going</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. Damn her, let her go, and a good riddance. +Yet so much tenderness and beauty and honesty together is a +jewel. Stay, Silvia—But then to marry; why, every man +plays the fool once in his life. But to marry is playing +the fool all one’s life long.</p> +<p>SILV. What did you call me for?</p> +<p>HEART. I’ll give thee all I have, and thou shalt +live with me in everything so like my wife, the world shall +believe it. Nay, thou shalt think so thyself—only let +me not think so.</p> +<p>SILV. No, I’ll die before I’ll be your +whore—as well as I love you.</p> +<p>HEART. [<i>Aside</i>.] A woman, and ignorant, may +be honest, when ’tis out of obstinacy and +contradiction. But, s’death, it is but a may be, and +upon scurvy terms. Well, farewell then—if I can get +out of sight I may get the better of myself.</p> +<p>SILV. Well—good-bye. [<i>Turns and +weeps</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. Ha! Nay, come, we’ll kiss at +parting. [<i>Kisses her</i>.] By heaven, her kiss is +sweeter than liberty. I will marry thee. There, thou +hast done’t. All my resolves melted in that +kiss—one more.</p> +<p>SILV. But when?</p> +<p>HEART. I’m impatient until it be done; I will not +give myself liberty to think, lest I should cool. I will +about a licence straight—in the evening expect me. +One kiss more to confirm me mad; so.</p> +<p>SILV. Ha, ha, ha, an old fox trapped—</p> +<h3>SCENE XI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To her</i>] <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>Bless me! you frighted me; I thought he had been come again, +and had heard me.</p> +<p>LUCY. Lord, madam, I met your lover in as much haste as +if he had been going for a midwife.</p> +<p>SILV. He’s going for a parson, girl, the +forerunner of a midwife, some nine months hence. Well, I +find dissembling to our sex is as natural as swimming to a negro; +we may depend upon our skill to save us at a plunge, though till +then, we never make the experiment. But how hast thou +succeeded?</p> +<p>LUCY. As you would wish—since there is no +reclaiming Vainlove. I have found out a pique she has taken +at him, and have framed a letter that makes her sue for +reconciliation first. I know that will do—walk in and +I’ll show it you. Come, madam, you’re like to +have a happy time on’t; both your love and anger +satisfied! All that can charm our sex conspire to please +you.</p> +<p class="poetry">That woman sure enjoys a blessed night,<br /> +Whom love and vengeance both at once delight.</p> +<h2>ACT IV.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <i>in fanatic habit</i>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. ’Tis pretty near the hour. [<i>Looking +on his watch</i>.] Well, and how, Setter, hae, does my +hypocrisy fit me, hae? Does it sit easy on me?</p> +<p>SET. Oh, most religiously well, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. I wonder why all our young fellows should glory in +an opinion of atheism, when they may be so much more conveniently +lewd under the coverlet of religion.</p> +<p>SET. S’bud, sir, away quickly: there’s +Fondlewife just turned the corner, and ’s coming this +way.</p> +<p>BELL. Gad’s so, there he is: he must not see +me.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, <span +class="smcap">Barnaby</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. I say I will tarry at home.</p> +<p>BAR. But, sir.</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack! I profess the spirit of +contradiction hath possessed the lad—I say I will tarry at +home, varlet.</p> +<p>BAR. I have done, sir; then farewell five hundred +pound.</p> +<p>FOND. Ha, how’s that? Stay, stay, did you +leave word, say you, with his wife? With Comfort +herself?</p> +<p>BAR. I did; and Comfort will send Tribulation hither as +soon as ever he comes home. I could have brought young Mr. +Prig to have kept my mistress company in the meantime. But +you say—</p> +<p>FOND. How, how, say, varlet! I say let him not +come near my doors. I say, he is a wanton young Levite, and +pampereth himself up with dainties, that he may look lovely in +the eyes of women. Sincerely, I am afraid he hath already +defiled the tabernacle of our sister Comfort; while her good +husband is deluded by his godly appearance. I say that even +lust doth sparkle in his eyes and glow upon his cheeks, and that +I would as soon trust my wife with a lord’s high-fed +chaplain.</p> +<p>BAR. Sir, the hour draws nigh, and nothing will be done +here until you come.</p> +<p>FOND. And nothing can be done here until I go; so that +I’ll tarry, de’e see.</p> +<p>BAR. And run the hazard to lose your affair, sir!</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack, good lack—I profess it is a very +sufficient vexation for a man to have a handsome wife.</p> +<p>BAR. Never, sir, but when the man is an insufficient +husband. ’Tis then, indeed, like the vanity of taking +a fine house, and yet be forced to let lodgings to help pay the +rent.</p> +<p>FOND. I profess a very apt comparison, varlet. Go +and bid my Cocky come out to me; I will give her some +instructions, I will reason with her before I go.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>And in the meantime I will reason with myself. Tell me, +Isaac, why art thee jealous? Why art thee distrustful of +the wife of thy bosom? Because she is young and vigorous, +and I am old and impotent. Then why didst thee marry, +Isaac? Because she was beautiful and tempting, and because +I was obstinate and doting; so that my inclination was (and is +still) greater than my power. And will not that which +tempted thee, also tempt others, who will tempt her, Isaac? +I fear it much. But does not thy wife love thee, nay, dote +upon thee? Yes. Why then! Ay, but to say truth, +she’s fonder of me than she has reason to be; and in the +way of trade, we still suspect the smoothest dealers of the +deepest designs. And that she has some designs deeper than +thou canst reach, thou hast experimented, Isaac. But, +mum.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>.</p> +<p>LÆT. I hope my dearest jewel is not going to leave +me—are you, Nykin?</p> +<p>FOND. Wife—have you thoroughly considered how +detestable, how heinous, and how crying a sin the sin of adultery +is? Have you weighed it, I say? For it is a very +weighty sin; and although it may lie heavy upon thee, yet thy +husband must also bear his part. For thy iniquity will fall +upon his head.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bless me, what means my dear?</p> +<p>FOND. [<i>Aside</i>.] I profess she has an +alluring eye; I am doubtful whether I shall trust her, even with +Tribulation himself. Speak, I say, have you considered what +it is to cuckold your husband?</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] I’m amazed. +Sure he has discovered nothing. Who has wronged me to my +dearest? I hope my jewel does not think that ever I had any +such thing in my head, or ever will have.</p> +<p>FOND. No, no, I tell you I shall have it in my +head—</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] I know not what to +think. But I’m resolved to find the meaning of +it. Unkind dear! Was it for this you sent to call +me? Is it not affliction enough that you are to leave me, +but you must study to increase it by unjust suspicions? +[<i>Crying</i>.] Well—well—you know my +fondness, and you love to tyrannise—Go on, cruel man, do: +triumph over my poor heart while it holds, which cannot be long, +with this usage of yours. But that’s what you +want. Well, you will have your ends soon. You +will—you will. Yes, it will break to oblige +you. [<i>Sighs</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Verily, I fear I have carried the jest too +far. Nay, look you now if she does not +weep—’tis the fondest fool. Nay, Cocky, Cocky, +nay, dear Cocky, don’t cry, I was but in jest, I was not, +ifeck.</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] Oh then, all’s +safe. I was terribly frighted. My affliction is +always your jest, barbarous man! Oh, that I should love to +this degree! Yet—</p> +<p>FOND. Nay, Cocky.</p> +<p>LÆT. No, no, you are weary of me, that’s +it—that’s all, you would get another +wife—another fond fool, to break her heart—Well, be +as cruel as you can to me, I’ll pray for you; and when I am +dead with grief, may you have one that will love you as well as I +have done: I shall be contented to lie at peace in my cold +grave—since it will please you. [<i>Sighs</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of +oak—I profess I can hold no longer. Nay, dear +Cocky—ifeck, you’ll break my heart—ifeck you +will. See, you have made me weep—made poor Nykin +weep. Nay, come kiss, buss poor Nykin—and I +won’t leave thee—I’ll lose all first.</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] How! Heaven +forbid! that will be carrying the jest too far indeed.</p> +<p>FOND. Won’t you kiss Nykin?</p> +<p>LÆT. Go, naughty Nykin, you don’t love +me.</p> +<p>FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do.</p> +<p>LÆT. No, you don’t. [<i>She kisses +him</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. What, not love Cocky!</p> +<p>LÆT. No-h. [<i>Sighs</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred +pound—and so thou shalt say, for I’ll leave it to +stay with thee.</p> +<p>LÆT. No you sha’n’t neglect your +business for me. No, indeed, you sha’n’t, +Nykin. If you don’t go, I’ll think you been +dealous of me still.</p> +<p>FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I +will go, I won’t be dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, +kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here will be the good man anon, to +talk to Cocky and teach her how a wife ought to behave +herself.</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] I hope to have one that +will show me how a husband ought to behave himself. I shall +be glad to learn, to please my jewel. [<i>Kiss</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. That’s my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin +once more, and then get you in. So—get you in, get +you in. Bye, bye.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bye, Nykin.</p> +<p>FOND. Bye, Cocky.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bye, Nykin.</p> +<p>FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. How! Araminta lost!</p> +<p>VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. +[<i>Gives a letter</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. [<i>Reads</i>.] Hum, hum! And what +then appeared a fault, upon reflection seems only an effect of a +too powerful passion. I’m afraid I give too great a +proof of my own at this time. I am in disorder for what I +have written. But something, I know not what, forced +me. I only beg a favourable censure of this and your <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy +wits. Here, here, she’s thy own, man, signed and +sealed too. To her, man—a delicious melon, pure and +consenting ripe, and only waits thy cutting up: she has been +breeding love to thee all this while, and just now she’s +delivered of it.</p> +<p>VAIN. ’Tis an untimely fruit, and she has +miscarried of her love.</p> +<p>SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, +Frank? Thou hast a sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love +and cannot digest it.</p> +<p>VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be +crammed. By heaven, there’s not a woman will give a +man the pleasure of a chase: my sport is always balked or cut +short. I stumble over the game I would pursue. +’Tis dull and unnatural to have a hare run full in the +hounds’ mouth, and would distaste the keenest hunter. +I would have overtaken, not have met, my game.</p> +<p>SHARP. However, I hope you don’t mean to forsake +it; that will be but a kind of mongrel cur’s trick. +Well, are you for the Mall?</p> +<p>VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I +will go too, and she shall see her error in—</p> +<p>SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be +so great a brute as to slight her.</p> +<p>VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her +management I should think she expects it.</p> +<p class="poetry">All naturally fly what does pursue:<br /> +’Tis fit men should be coy when women woo.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>A Room in Fondlewife’s +House</i>.</p> +<p>A <span class="smcap">Servant</span> <i>introducing</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <i>in fanatic habit</i>, <i>with a +patch upon one eye and a book in his hand</i>.</p> +<p>SERV. Here’s a chair, sir, if you please to repose +yourself. My mistress is coming, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion +and even dared discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and +trusty Scarron’s novels my prayer-book; methinks I am the +very picture of Montufar in the Hypocrites. Oh! she +comes.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">So breaks Aurora through the veil of night,<br +/> +Thus fly the clouds, divided by her light,<br /> +And every eye receives a new-born sight.<br /> +[<i>Throwing off his cloak</i>, <i>patch</i>, <i>etc.</i>]</p> +<p>LÆT. Thus strewed with blushes, +like—Ah! Heaven defend me! Who’s +this? [<i>Discovering him</i>, <i>starts</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Your lover.</p> +<p>LÆT. Vainlove’s friend! I know his +face, and he has betrayed me to him. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. You are surprised. Did you not expect a +lover, madam? Those eyes shone kindly on my first +appearance, though now they are o’ercast.</p> +<p>LÆT. I may well be surprised at your person and +impudence: they are both new to me. You are not what your +first appearance promised: the piety of your habit was welcome, +but not the hypocrisy.</p> +<p>BELL. Rather the hypocrisy was welcome, but not the +hypocrite.</p> +<p>LÆT. Who are you, sir? You have mistaken the +house sure.</p> +<p>BELL. I have directions in my pocket which agree with +everything but your unkindness. [<i>Pulls out the +letter</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. My letter! Base Vainlove! Then +’tis too late to dissemble. [<i>Aside</i>.] +’Tis plain, then, you have mistaken the person. +[<i>Going</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. If we part so I’m mistaken. Hold, +hold, madam! I confess I have run into an error. I +beg your pardon a thousand times. What an eternal blockhead +am I! Can you forgive me the disorder I have put you +into? But it is a mistake which anybody might have +made.</p> +<p>LÆT. What can this mean? ’Tis +impossible he should be mistaken after all this. A handsome +fellow if he had not surprised me. Methinks, now I look on +him again, I would not have him mistaken. +[<i>Aside</i>.] We are all liable to mistakes, sir. +If you own it to be so, there needs no farther apology.</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, faith, madam, ’tis a pleasant one, and +worth your hearing. Expecting a friend last night, at his +lodgings, till ’twas late, my intimacy with him gave me the +freedom of his bed. He not coming home all night, a letter +was delivered to me by a servant in the morning. Upon the +perusal I found the contents so charming that I could think of +nothing all day but putting ’em in practice, until just +now, the first time I ever looked upon the superscription, I am +the most surprised in the world to find it directed to Mr. +Vainlove. Gad, madam, I ask you a million of pardons, and +will make you any satisfaction.</p> +<p>LÆT. I am discovered. And either Vainlove is +not guilty, or he has handsomely excused him. +[<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. You appear concerned, madam.</p> +<p>LÆT. I hope you are a gentleman;—and since +you are privy to a weak woman’s failing, won’t turn +it to the prejudice of her reputation. You look as if you +had more honour—</p> +<p>BELL. And more love, or my face is a false witness and +deserves to be pilloried. No, by heaven, I swear—</p> +<p>LÆT. Nay, don’t swear if you’d have me +believe you; but promise—</p> +<p>BELL. Well, I promise. A promise is so cold: give +me leave to swear, by those eyes, those killing eyes, by those +healing lips. Oh! press the soft charm close to mine, and +seal ’em up for ever.</p> +<p>LÆT. Upon that condition. [<i>He kisses +her</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Eternity was in that moment. One more, upon +any condition!</p> +<p>LÆT. Nay, now—I never saw anything so +agreeably impudent. [<i>Aside</i>.] Won’t you +censure me for this, now?—but ’tis to buy your +silence. [<i>Kiss</i>.] Oh, but what am I doing!</p> +<p>BELL. Doing! No tongue can express it—not +thy own, nor anything, but thy lips. I am faint with the +excess of bliss. Oh, for love-sake, lead me anywhither, +where I may lie down—quickly, for I’m afraid I shall +have a fit.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bless me! What fit?</p> +<p>BELL. Oh, a convulsion—I feel the symptoms.</p> +<p>LÆT. Does it hold you long? I’m afraid +to carry you into my chamber.</p> +<p>BELL. Oh, no: let me lie down upon the bed; the fit will +be soon over.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>St. James’s +Park</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Araminta</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Belinda</span> <i>meeting</i>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Lard, my dear, I am glad I have met you; I have +been at the Exchange since, and am so tired—</p> +<p>ARAM. Why, what’s the matter?</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh the most inhuman, barbarous +hackney-coach! I am jolted to a jelly. Am I not +horribly touzed? [<i>Pulls out a pocket-glass</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. Your head’s a little out of order.</p> +<p>BELIN. A little! O frightful! What a furious +phiz I have! O most rueful! Ha, ha, ha. O Gad, +I hope nobody will come this way, till I have put myself a little +in repair. Ah! my dear, I have seen such unhewn creatures +since. Ha, ha, ha. I can’t for my soul help +thinking that I look just like one of ’em. Good dear, +pin this, and I’ll tell you—very well—so, thank +you, my dear—but as I was telling you—pish, this is +the untowardest lock—so, as I was telling you—how +d’ye like me now? Hideous, ha? Frightful +still? Or how?</p> +<p>ARAM. No, no; you’re very well as can be.</p> +<p>BELIN. And so—but where did I leave off, my +dear? I was telling you—</p> +<p>ARAM. You were about to tell me something, child, but +you left off before you began.</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh; a most comical sight: a country squire, with +the equipage of a wife and two daughters, came to Mrs. +Snipwel’s shop while I was there—but oh Gad! two such +unlicked cubs!</p> +<p>ARAM. I warrant, plump, cherry-cheeked country +girls.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ay, o’ my conscience, fat as barn-door +fowl: but so bedecked, you would have taken ’em for +Friesland hens, with their feathers growing the wrong way. +O such outlandish creatures! Such Tramontanæ, and +foreigners to the fashion, or anything in practice! I had +not patience to behold. I undertook the modelling of one of +their fronts, the more modern structure—</p> +<p>ARAM. Bless me, cousin; why would you affront anybody +so? They might be gentlewomen of a very good +family—</p> +<p>BELIN. Of a very ancient one, I dare swear, by their +dress. Affront! pshaw, how you’re mistaken! The +poor creature, I warrant, was as full of curtsies, as if I had +been her godmother. The truth on’t is, I did +endeavour to make her look like a Christian—and she was +sensible of it, for she thanked me, and gave me two apples, +piping hot, out of her under-petticoat pocket. Ha, ha, ha: +and t’other did so stare and gape, I fancied her like the +front of her father’s hall; her eyes were the two +jut-windows, and her mouth the great door, most hospitably kept +open for the entertainment of travelling flies.</p> +<p>ARAM. So then, you have been diverted. What did +they buy?</p> +<p>BELIN. Why, the father bought a powder-horn, and an +almanac, and a comb-case; the mother, a great fruz-towr, and a +fat amber necklace; the daughters only tore two pairs of +kid-leather gloves, with trying ’em on. O Gad, here +comes the fool that dined at my Lady Freelove’s +t’other day.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>ARAM. May be he may not know us again.</p> +<p>BELIN. We’ll put on our masks to secure his +ignorance. [<i>They put on their masks</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, Gad, I’ll pick up; I’m resolved +to make a night on’t. I’ll go to Alderman +Fondlewife by and by, and get fifty pieces more from him. +Adslidikins, bully, we’ll wallow in wine and women. +Why, this same Madeira wine has made me as light as a +grasshopper. Hist, hist, bully, dost thou see those +tearers? [<i>Sings</i>.] Look you what here +is—look you what here +is—toll—loll—dera—toll—loll—agad, +t’other glass of Madeira, and I durst have attacked +’em in my own proper person, without your help.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Come on then, knight. But do you know what +to say to them?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Say: pooh, pox, I’ve enough to +say—never fear it—that is, if I can but think +on’t: truth is, I have but a treacherous memory.</p> +<p>BELIN. O frightful! cousin, what shall we do? +These things come towards us.</p> +<p>ARAM. No matter. I see Vainlove coming this +way—and, to confess my failing, I am willing to give him an +opportunity of making his peace with me—and to rid me of +these coxcombs, when I seem opprest with ’em, will be a +fair one.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Ladies, by these hilts you are well met.</p> +<p>ARAM. We are afraid not.</p> +<p>BLUFF. What says my pretty little knapsack +carrier. [<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. O monstrous filthy fellow! good slovenly Captain +Huffe, Bluffe (what is your hideous name?) be gone: you stink of +brandy and tobacco, most soldier-like. Foh. +[<i>Spits</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Now am I slap-dash down in the mouth, and have +not one word to say! [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. I hope my fool has not confidence enough to be +troublesome. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Hem! Pray, madam, which way is the +wind?</p> +<p>ARAM. A pithy question. Have you sent your wits +for a venture, sir, that you enquire?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, now I’m in, I can prattle like a +magpie. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE X.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>at some distance</i>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Dear Araminta, I’m tired.</p> +<p>ARAM. ’Tis but pulling off our masks, and obliging +Vainlove to know us. I’ll be rid of my fool by fair +means.—Well, Sir Joseph, you shall see my face; but, be +gone immediately. I see one that will be jealous, to find +me in discourse with you. Be discreet. No reply; but +away. [<i>Unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. The great fortune, that dined at my Lady +Freelove’s! Sir Joseph, thou art a made man. +Agad, I’m in love up to the ears. But I’ll be +discreet, and hushed. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Nay, by the world, I’ll see your face.</p> +<p>BELIN. You shall. [<i>Unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. Ladies, your humble servant. We were afraid +you would not have given us leave to know you.</p> +<p>ARAM. We thought to have been private. But we find +fools have the same advantage over a face in a mask that a coward +has while the sword is in the scabbard, so were forced to draw in +our own defence.</p> +<p>BLUFF. My blood rises at that fellow: I can’t stay +where he is; and I must not draw in the park. [<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. I wish I durst stay to let her know my +lodging.</p> +<h3>SCENE XI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. There is in true beauty, as in courage, somewhat +which narrow souls cannot dare to admire. And see, the owls +are fled, as at the break of day.</p> +<p>BELIN. Very courtly. I believe Mr. Vainlove has +not rubbed his eyes since break of day neither, he looks as if he +durst not approach. Nay, come, cousin, be friends with +him. I swear he looks so very simply—ha, ha, +ha. Well, a lover in the state of separation from his +mistress is like a body without a soul. Mr. Vainlove, shall +I be bound for your good behaviour for the future?</p> +<p>VAIN. Now must I pretend ignorance equal to hers, of +what she knows as well as I. [<i>Aside</i>.] Men are +apt to offend (’tis true) where they find most goodness to +forgive. But, madam, I hope I shall prove of a temper not +to abuse mercy by committing new offences.</p> +<p>ARAM. So cold! [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. I have broke the ice for you, Mr. Vainlove, and +so I leave you. Come, Mr. Sharper, you and I will take a +turn, and laugh at the vulgar—both the great vulgar and the +small. O Gad! I have a great passion for +Cowley. Don’t you admire him?</p> +<p>SHARP. Oh, madam! he was our English Horace.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ah so fine! so extremely fine! So +everything in the world that I like—O Lord, walk this +way—I see a couple; I’ll give you their history.</p> +<h3>SCENE XII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>.</p> +<p>VAIN. I find, madam, the formality of the law must be +observed, though the penalty of it be dispensed with, and an +offender must plead to his arraignment, though he has his pardon +in his pocket.</p> +<p>ARAM. I’m amazed! This insolence exceeds +t’other; whoever has encouraged you to this assurance, +presuming upon the easiness of my temper, has much deceived you, +and so you shall find.</p> +<p>VAIN. Hey day! Which way now? Here’s +fine doubling. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. Base man! Was it not enough to affront me +with your saucy passion?</p> +<p>VAIN. You have given that passion a much kinder epithet +than saucy, in another place.</p> +<p>ARAM. Another place! Some villainous design to +blast my honour. But though thou hadst all the treachery +and malice of thy sex, thou canst not lay a blemish on my +fame. No, I have not erred in one favourable thought of +mankind. How time might have deceived me in you, I know +not; my opinion was but young, and your early baseness has +prevented its growing to a wrong belief. Unworthy and +ungrateful! be gone, and never see me more.</p> +<p>VAIN. Did I dream? or do I dream? Shall I believe +my eyes, or ears? The vision is here still. Your +passion, madam, will admit of no farther reasoning; but +here’s a silent witness of your acquaintance. +[<i>Takes our the letter</i>, <i>and offers it</i>: <i>she +snatches it</i>, <i>and throws it away</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. There’s poison in everything you +touch. Blisters will follow—</p> +<p>VAIN. That tongue, which denies what the hands have +done.</p> +<p>ARAM. Still mystically senseless and impudent; I find I +must leave the place.</p> +<p>VAIN. No, madam, I’m gone. She knows her +name’s to it, which she will be unwilling to expose to the +censure of the first finder.</p> +<p>ARAM. Woman’s obstinacy made me blind to what +woman’s curiosity now tempts me to see. [<i>Takes up +the letter</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE XIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Belinda</span>, +<span class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nay, we have spared nobody, I swear. Mr. +Sharper, you’re a pure man; where did you get this +excellent talent of railing?</p> +<p>SHARP. Faith, madam, the talent was born with +me:—I confess I have taken care to improve it, to qualify +me for the society of ladies.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nay, sure, railing is the best qualification in a +woman’s man.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Footman</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. The second best, indeed, I think.</p> +<p>BELIN. How now, Pace? Where’s my cousin?</p> +<p>FOOT. She’s not very well, madam, and has sent to +know if your ladyship would have the coach come again for +you?</p> +<p>BELIN. O Lord, no, I’ll go along with her. +Come, Mr. Sharper.</p> +<h3>SCENE XV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>A chamber in +Fondlewife’s house</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span> and <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, his cloak, hat, etc., lying loose +about the chamber.</p> +<p>BELL. Here’s nobody, nor no +noise—’twas nothing but your fears.</p> +<p>LÆT. I durst have sworn I had heard my +monster’s voice. I swear I was heartily frightened; +feel how my heart beats.</p> +<p>BELL. ’Tis an alarm to love—come in again, +and let us—</p> +<p>FOND. [<i>Without</i>.] Cocky, Cocky, where are +you, Cocky? I’m come home.</p> +<p>LÆT. Ah! There he is. Make haste, +gather up your things.</p> +<p>FOND. Cocky, Cocky, open the door.</p> +<p>BELL. Pox choke him, would his horns were in his +throat. My patch, my patch. [<i>Looking about</i>, +<i>and gathering up his things</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. My jewel, art thou there?—No matter for +your patch.—You s’an’t tum in, Nykin—run +into my chamber, quickly, quickly—You s’an’t +tum in.</p> +<p>FOND. Nay, prithee, dear, i’feck I’m in +haste.</p> +<p>LÆT. Then I’ll let you in. [<i>Opens +the door</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE XVI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. Kiss, dear—I met the master of the ship by +the way, and I must have my papers of accounts out of your +cabinet.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh, I’m undone! +[<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Pray, first let me have fifty pound, good +Alderman, for I’m in haste.</p> +<p>FOND. A hundred has already been paid by your +order. Fifty? I have the sum ready in gold in my +closet.</p> +<h3>SCENE XVII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Agad, it’s a curious, fine, pretty rogue; +I’ll speak to her.—Pray, Madam, what news d’ye +hear?</p> +<p>LÆT. Sir, I seldom stir abroad. [<i>Walks +about in disorder</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. I wonder at that, Madam, for ’tis most +curious fine weather.</p> +<p>LÆT. Methinks ’t has been very ill +weather.</p> +<p>SIR JO. As you say, madam, ’tis pretty bad +weather, and has been so a great while.</p> +<h3>SCENE XVIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. Here are fifty pieces in this purse, Sir Joseph; +if you will tarry a moment, till I fetch my papers, I’ll +wait upon you down-stairs.</p> +<p>LÆT. Ruined, past redemption! what shall I +do—ha! this fool may be of use. (Aside.) +[<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>is going into +the chamber</i>, <i>she runs to</i> <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>, <i>almost pushes him down</i>, <i>and cries +out</i>.] Stand off, rude ruffian. Help me, my +dear. O bless me! Why will you leave me alone with +such a Satyr?</p> +<p>FOND. Bless us! What’s the matter? +What’s the matter?</p> +<p>LÆT. Your back was no sooner turned, but like a +lion he came open mouthed upon me, and would have ravished a kiss +from me by main force.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord! Oh, terrible! Ha, ha, +ha. Is your wife mad, Alderman?</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! I’m sick with the fright; +won’t you take him out of my sight?</p> +<p>FOND. O traitor! I’m astonished. O +bloody-minded traitor!</p> +<p>SIR JO. Hey-day! Traitor yourself. By the +Lord Harry, I was in most danger of being ravished, if you go to +that.</p> +<p>FOND. Oh, how the blasphemous wretch swears! Out +of my house, thou son of the whore of Babylon; offspring of Bel +and the Dragon.—Bless us! ravish my wife! my Dinah! +Oh, Shechemite! Begone, I say.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Why, the devil’s in the people, I +think.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIX.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! won’t you follow, and see him out +of doors, my dear?</p> +<p>FOND. I’ll shut this door to secure him from +coming back—Give me the key of your cabinet, Cocky. +Ravish my wife before my face? I warrant he’s a +Papist in his heart at least, if not a Frenchman.</p> +<p>LÆT. What can I do now! (Aside.) Oh! +my dear, I have been in such a fright, that I forgot to tell you, +poor Mr. Spintext has a sad fit of the colic, and is forced to +lie down upon our bed—you’ll disturb him; I can tread +softlier.</p> +<p>FOND. Alack, poor man—no, no—you don’t +know the papers—I won’t disturb him; give me the +key. [<i>She gives him the key</i>, <i>goes to the chamber +door and speaks aloud</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. ’Tis nobody but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. +Spintext, lie still on your stomach; lying on your stomach will +ease you of the colic.</p> +<p>FOND. Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don’t let me +disturb you.</p> +<h3>SCENE XX.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>LÆT. Sure, when he does not see his face, he +won’t discover him. Dear fortune, help me but this +once, and I’ll never run in thy debt again. But this +opportunity is the Devil.</p> +<h3>SCENE XXI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>returns with Papers</i>.</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack! good lack! I profess the poor man +is in great torment; he lies as flat—Dear, you should heat +a trencher, or a napkin.—Where’s Deborah? Let +her clap some warm thing to his stomach, or chafe it with a warm +hand rather than fail. What book’s this? +[<i>Sees the book that</i> <span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> +<i>forgot</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. Mr. Spintext’s prayer-book, dear. +Pray Heaven it be a prayer-book. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Good man! I warrant he dropped it on purpose +that you might take it up and read some of the pious +ejaculations. [<i>Taking up the book</i>.] O bless +me! O monstrous! A prayer-book? Ay, this is the +devil’s paternoster. Hold, let me see: The Innocent +Adultery.</p> +<p>LÆT. Misfortune! now all’s ruined +again. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. [<i>Peeping</i>]. Damned chance! If I +had gone a-whoring with the Practice of Piety in my pocket I had +never been discovered.</p> +<p>FOND. Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! +Here’s doctrine! Ay, here’s discipline!</p> +<p>LÆT. Dear husband, I’m amazed. Sure it +is a good book, and only tends to the speculation of sin.</p> +<p>FOND. Speculation! No no; something went farther +than speculation when I was not to be let in.—Where is this +apocryphal elder? I’ll ferret him.</p> +<p>LÆT. I’m so distracted, I can’t think +of a lie. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE XXII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>haling out</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, +how now! Who have we here?</p> +<p>LÆT. Ha! [<i>Shrieks as surprised</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then +brutified? Ay, I feel it here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, +I am ripe-horn-mad. But who in the devil’s name are +you? Mercy on me for swearing. But—</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are +you? What are you?</p> +<p>BELL. Soh!</p> +<p>LÆT. In the name of the—O! Good, my +dear, don’t come near it; I’m afraid ’tis the +devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear.</p> +<p>FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, +no, I am afraid ’tis the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, +with the pox. Come Syren, speak, confess, who is this +reverend, brawny pastor.</p> +<p>LÆT. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I +never saw this wicked man before.</p> +<p>FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems.</p> +<p>LÆT. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of +a sheep.</p> +<p>FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper +clothing—woman’s flesh. What, you know nothing +of him, but his fleece here! You don’t love mutton? +you Magdalen unconverted.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.—That is, very +honourably to excuse her, and very impudently accuse +myself. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the +heaven of your embraces again, my dear, if ever I saw his face +before.</p> +<p>FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration +of your impudence. Look at him a little better; he is more +modest, I warrant you, than to deny it. Come, were you two +never face to face before? Speak.</p> +<p>BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think +myself obliged to speak the truth in justice to your +wife.—No.</p> +<p>FOND. Humph.</p> +<p>LÆT. No, indeed, dear.</p> +<p>FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must +confess. But, what—not to be cured of the +colic? Don’t you know your patient, Mrs. Quack? +Oh, ‘lie upon your stomach; lying upon your stomach will +cure you of the colic.’ Ah! answer me, Jezebel?</p> +<p>LÆT. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does +he think I have nothing to do but excuse him? ’tis enough +if I can clear my own innocence to my own dear.</p> +<p>BELL. By my troth, and so ’tis. I have been +a little too backward; that’s the truth on’t.</p> +<p>FOND. Come, sir, who are you, in the first place? +And what are you?</p> +<p>BELL. A whore-master.</p> +<p>FOND. Very concise.</p> +<p>LÆT. O beastly, impudent creature.</p> +<p>FOND. Well, sir, and what came you hither for?</p> +<p>BELL. To lie with your wife.</p> +<p>FOND. Good again. A very civil person this, and I +believe speaks truth.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh, insupportable impudence.</p> +<p>FOND. Well, sir; pray be covered—and you +have—Heh! You have finished the matter, heh? +And I am, as I should be, a sort of civil perquisite to a +whore-master, called a cuckold, heh? Is it not so? +Come, I’m inclining to believe every word you say.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, faith, I must confess, so I designed you; but +you were a little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindered the +making of your own fortune.</p> +<p>FOND. Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once and +go back of your word you are not the person I took you for. +Come, come, go on boldly.—What, don’t be ashamed of +your profession.—Confess, confess; I shall love thee the +better for’t. I shall, i’feck. What, dost +think I don’t know how to behave myself in the employment +of a cuckold, and have been three years apprentice to +matrimony? Come, come; plain dealing is a jewel.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, since I see thou art a good, honest fellow, +I’ll confess the whole matter to thee.</p> +<p>FOND. Oh, I am a very honest fellow. You never lay +with an honester man’s wife in your life.</p> +<p>LÆT. How my heart aches! All my comfort lies +in his impudence, and heaven be praised, he has a considerable +portion. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. In short, then, I was informed of the opportunity +of your absence by my spy (for faith, honest Isaac, I have a long +time designed thee this favour). I knew Spintext was to +come by your direction. But I laid a trap for him, and +procured his habit, in which I passed upon your servants, and was +conducted hither. I pretended a fit of the colic, to excuse +my lying down upon your bed; hoping that when she heard of it, +her good nature would bring her to administer remedies for my +distemper. You know what might have followed. But, +like an uncivil person, you knocked at the door before your wife +was come to me.</p> +<p>FOND. Ha! This is apocryphal; I may choose whether +I will believe it or no.</p> +<p>BELL. That you may, faith, and I hope you won’t +believe a word on’t—but I can’t help telling +the truth, for my life.</p> +<p>FOND. How! would not you have me believe you, say +you?</p> +<p>BELL. No; for then you must of consequence part with +your wife, and there will be some hopes of having her upon the +public; then the encouragement of a separate +maintenance—</p> +<p>FOND. No, no; for that matter, when she and I part, +she’ll carry her separate maintenance about her.</p> +<p>LÆT. Ah, cruel dear, how can you be so +barbarous? You’ll break my heart, if you talk of +parting. [<i>Cries</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Ah, dissembling vermin!</p> +<p>BELL. How can’st thou be so cruel, Isaac? +Thou hast the heart of a mountain-tiger. By the faith of a +sincere sinner, she’s innocent for me. Go to him, +madam, fling your snowy arms about his stubborn neck; bathe his +relentless face in your salt trickling tears. [<i>She goes +and hangs upon his neck</i>, <i>and kisses him</i>. <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>kisses her hand behind</i> <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife’s</span> <i>back</i>.] So, a +few soft words, and a kiss, and the good man melts. See how +kind nature works, and boils over in him.</p> +<p>LÆT. Indeed, my dear, I was but just come down +stairs, when you knocked at the door; and the maid told me Mr. +Spintext was ill of the colic upon our bed. And won’t +you speak to me, cruel Nykin? Indeed, I’ll die, if +you don’t.</p> +<p>FOND. Ah! No, no, I cannot speak, my heart’s +so full—I have been a tender husband, a tender yoke-fellow; +you know I have.—But thou hast been a faithless Delilah, +and the Philistines—Heh! Art thou not vile and +unclean, heh? Speak. [<i>Weeping</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. No-h. [<i>Sighing</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Oh that I could believe thee!</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh, my heart will break. [<i>Seeming to +faint</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Heh, how! No, stay, stay, I will believe +thee, I will. Pray bend her forward, sir.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! oh! Where is my dear?</p> +<p>FOND. Here, here; I do believe thee. I won’t +believe my own eyes.</p> +<p>BELL. For my part, I am so charmed with the love of your +turtle to you, that I’ll go and solicit matrimony with all +my might and main.</p> +<p>FOND. Well, well, sir; as long as I believe it, +’tis well enough. No thanks to you, sir, for her +virtue.—But, I’ll show you the way out of my house, +if you please. Come, my dear. Nay, I will believe +thee, I do, i’feck.</p> +<p>BELL. See the great blessing of an easy faith; opinion +cannot err.</p> +<p class="poetry">No husband, by his wife, can be deceived;<br /> +She still is virtuous, if she’s so believed.</p> +<h2>ACT V.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> +<i>in fanatic habit</i>, <span class="smcap">Setter</span>, <span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Setter! Well encountered.</p> +<p>SET. Joy of your return, sir. Have you made a good +voyage? or have you brought your own lading back?</p> +<p>BELL. No, I have brought nothing but ballast +back—made a delicious voyage, Setter; and might have rode +at anchor in the port till this time, but the enemy surprised +us—I would unrig.</p> +<p>SET. I attend you, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. Ha! Is it not that Heartwell at +Sylvia’s door? Be gone quickly, I’ll follow +you—I would not be known. Pox take ’em, they +stand just in my way.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>HEART. I’m impatient till it be done.</p> +<p>LUCY. That may be, without troubling yourself to go +again for your brother’s chaplain. Don’t you +see that stalking form of godliness?</p> +<p>HEART. O ay; he’s a fanatic.</p> +<p>LUCY. An executioner qualified to do your +business. He has been lawfully ordained.</p> +<p>HEART. I’ll pay him well, if you’ll break +the matter to him.</p> +<p>LUCY. I warrant you.—Do you go and prepare your +bride.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Humph, sits the wind there? What a lucky +rogue am I! Oh, what sport will be here, if I can persuade +this wench to secrecy!</p> +<p>LUCY. Sir: reverend sir.</p> +<p>BELL. Madam. [<i>Discovers himself</i>.]</p> +<p>LUCY. Now, goodness have mercy upon me! Mr. +Bellmour! is it you?</p> +<p>BELL. Even I. What dost think?</p> +<p>LUCY. Think! That I should not believe my eyes, +and that you are not what you seem to be.</p> +<p>BELL. True. But to convince thee who I am, thou +knowest my old token. [<i>Kisses her</i>.]</p> +<p>LUCY. Nay, Mr. Bellmour: O Lard! I believe you are +a parson in good earnest, you kiss so devoutly.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, your business with me, Lucy?</p> +<p>LUCY. I had none, but through mistake.</p> +<p>BELL. Which mistake you must go through with, +Lucy. Come, I know the intrigue between Heartwell and your +mistress; and you mistook me for Tribulation Spintext, to marry +’em—Ha? are not matters in this posture? +Confess: come, I’ll be faithful; I will, +i’faith. What! diffide in me, Lucy?</p> +<p>LUCY. Alas-a-day! You and Mr. Vainlove, between +you, have ruined my poor mistress: you have made a gap in her +reputation; and can you blame her if she make it up with a +husband?</p> +<p>BELL. Well, is it as I say?</p> +<p>LUCY. Well, it is then: but you’ll be secret?</p> +<p>BELL. Phuh, secret, ay. And to be out of thy debt, +I’ll trust thee with another secret. Your mistress +must not marry Heartwell, Lucy.</p> +<p>LUCY. How! O Lord!</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, don’t be in passion, +Lucy:—I’ll provide a fitter husband for her. +Come, here’s earnest of my good intentions for thee too; +let this mollify. [<i>Gives her money</i>.] Look you, +Heartwell is my friend; and though he be blind, I must not see +him fall into the snare, and unwittingly marry a whore.</p> +<p>LUCY. Whore! I’d have you to know my +mistress scorns—</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, nay: look you, Lucy; there are whores of as +good quality. But to the purpose, if you will give me leave +to acquaint you with it. Do you carry on the mistake of me: +I’ll marry ’em. Nay, don’t pause; if you +do, I’ll spoil all. I have some private reasons for +what I do, which I’ll tell you within. In the +meantime, I promise—and rely upon me—to help your +mistress to a husband: nay, and thee too, Lucy. +Here’s my hand, I will; with a fresh assurance. +[<i>Gives her more money</i>.]</p> +<p>LUCY. Ah, the devil is not so cunning. You know my +easy nature. Well, for once I’ll venture to serve +you; but if you do deceive me, the curse of all kind, +tender-hearted women light upon you!</p> +<p>BELL. That’s as much as to say, the pox take +me. Well, lead on.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy?</p> +<p>SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you +found me, and overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry +’em.</p> +<p>SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. +I’ll plague Heartwell when I see him. Prithee, Frank, +let’s tease him; make him fret till he foam at the mouth, +and disgorge his matrimonial oath with interest. Come, +thou’rt musty—</p> +<p>SET. [<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.] Sir, a word with you. +[<i>Whispers him</i>.]</p> +<p>VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the +letter—I’m sure he tells me truth;—but +I’m not sure she told him truth: yet she was unaffectedly +concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and surprise: +and so I remember in the park. She had reason, if I wrong +her. I begin to doubt.</p> +<p>SHARP. Say’st thou so?</p> +<p>SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master +received the letter.</p> +<p>SHARP. In my conscience, like enough.</p> +<p>SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I’m sure I can +fish it out of her: she’s the very sluice to her +lady’s secrets: ’tis but setting her mill agoing, and +I can drain her of ’em all.</p> +<p>SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the +fault: this letter, that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; +only a trick of Sylvia in revenge, contrived by Lucy.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, +sirrah?</p> +<p>SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was +pumping me about how your worship’s affairs stood towards +Madam Araminta; as, when you had seen her last? when you were to +see her next? and, where you were to be found at that time? and +such like.</p> +<p>VAIN. And where did you tell her?</p> +<p>SET. In the Piazza.</p> +<p>VAIN. There I received the letter—it must be +so—and why did you not find me out, to tell me this before, +sot?</p> +<p>SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour.</p> +<p>SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no +objection to the excuse.</p> +<p>VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity—if I have lost +her, I deserve it. But if confession and repentance be of +force, I’ll win her, or weary her into a forgiveness.</p> +<p>SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, +<span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes.</p> +<p>SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous +mischief—no real fanatic can look better pleased after a +successful sermon of sedition.</p> +<p>BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a +jest! Speak when thou art ready.</p> +<p>SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly +disappoint thy mirth: hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much +gravity as a bishop hears venereal causes in the spiritual +court. Not so much as wrinkle my face with one smile; but +let thee look simply, and laugh by thyself.</p> +<p>BELL. Pshaw, no; I have a better opinion of thy +wit. Gad, I defy thee.</p> +<p>SHARP. Were it not loss of time you should make the +experiment. But honest Setter, here, overheard you with +Lucy, and has told me all.</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, then, I thank thee for not putting me out of +countenance. But, to tell you something you don’t +know. I got an opportunity after I had married ’em, +of discovering the cheat to Sylvia. She took it at first, +as another woman would the like disappointment; but my promise to +make her amends quickly with another husband somewhat pacified +her.</p> +<p>SHARP. But how the devil do you think to acquit yourself +of your promise? Will you marry her yourself?</p> +<p>BELL. I have no such intentions at present. +Prithee, wilt thou think a little for me? I am sure the +ingenious Mr. Setter will assist.</p> +<p>SET. O Lord, sir!</p> +<p>BELL. I’ll leave him with you, and go shift my +habit.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>, and <span class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Heh! Sure fortune has sent this fool hither +on purpose. Setter, stand close; seem not to observe +’em; and, hark ye. [<i>Whispers</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Fear him not. I am prepared for him now, +and he shall find he might have safer roused a sleeping lion.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Hush, hush! don’t you see him?</p> +<p>BLUFF. Show him to me. Where is he?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, don’t speak so loud. I +don’t jest as I did a little while ago. Look +yonder! Agad, if he should hear the lion roar, he’d +cudgel him into an ass, and his primitive braying. +Don’t you remember the story in Æsop’s Fables, +bully? Agad, there are good morals to be picked out of +Æsop’s Fables, let me tell you that, and Reynard the +Fox too.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Damn your morals.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Prithee, don’t speak so loud.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Damn your morals; I must revenge the affront done +to my honour. [<i>In a low voice</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay; do, do, captain, if you think fitting. +You may dispose of your own flesh as you think fitting, +d’ye see, but, by the Lord Harry, I’ll leave +you. [<i>Stealing away upon his tip-toes</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Prodigious! What, will you forsake your +friend in extremity? You can’t in honour refuse to +carry him a challenge. [<i>Almost whispering</i>, <i>and +treading softly after him</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Prithee, what do you see in my face that looks +as if I would carry a challenge? Honour is your province, +captain; take it. All the world know me to be a knight, and +a man of worship.</p> +<p>SET. I warrant you, sir, I’m instructed.</p> +<p>SHARP. Impossible! Araminta take a liking to a +fool? [<i>Aloud</i>.]</p> +<p>SET. Her head runs on nothing else, nor she can talk of +nothing else.</p> +<p>SHARP. I know she commanded him all the while we were in +the Park; but I thought it had been only to make Vainlove +jealous.</p> +<p>SIR JO. How’s this! Good bully, hold your +breath and let’s hearken. Agad, this must be I.</p> +<p>SHARP. Death, it can’t be. An oaf, an idiot, +a wittal.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, now it’s out; ’tis I, my own +individual person.</p> +<p>SHARP. A wretch that has flown for shelter to the lowest +shrub of mankind, and seeks protection from a blasted coward.</p> +<p>SIR JO. That’s you, bully back. [<span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span> <i>frowns upon</i> <span +class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. She has given Vainlove her promise to marry him +before to-morrow morning. Has she not? [<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>.]</p> +<p>SET. She has, sir; and I have it in charge to attend her +all this evening, in order to conduct her to the place +appointed.</p> +<p>SHARP. Well, I’ll go and inform your master; and +do you press her to make all the haste imaginable.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Setter</span>, +<span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>SET. Were I a rogue now, what a noble prize could I +dispose of! A goodly pinnace, richly laden, and to launch +forth under my auspicious convoy. Twelve thousand pounds +and all her rigging, besides what lies concealed under +hatches. Ha! all this committed to my care! Avaunt, +temptation! Setter, show thyself a person of worth; be true +to thy trust, and be reputed honest. Reputed honest! +Hum: is that all? Ay; for to be honest is nothing; the +reputation of it is all. Reputation! what have such poor +rogues as I to do with reputation? ’tis above us; and for +men of quality, they are above it; so that reputation is even as +foolish a thing as honesty. And, for my part, if I meet Sir +Joseph with a purse of gold in his hand, I’ll dispose of +mine to the best advantage.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Heh, heh, heh: Here ’tis for you, +i’faith, Mr. Setter. Nay, I’ll take you at your +word. [<i>Chinking a purse</i>.]</p> +<p>SET. Sir Joseph and the captain, too! undone! +undone! I’m undone, my master’s undone, my +lady’s undone, and all the business is undone.</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, no; never fear, man; the lady’s +business shall be done. What, come, Mr. Setter, I have +overheard all, and to speak is but loss of time; but if there be +occasion, let these worthy gentlemen intercede for me. +[<i>Gives him gold</i>.]</p> +<p>SET. O lord, sir, what d’ye mean? Corrupt my +honesty? They have indeed very persuading faces. +But—</p> +<p>SIR JO. ’Tis too little, there’s more, +man. There, take all. Now—</p> +<p>SET. Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with +you—</p> +<p>SIR JO. And how, and how, good Setter, did the little +rogue look when she talked of Sir Joseph? Did not her eyes +twinkle and her mouth water? Did not she pull up her little +bubbies? And—agad, I’m so overjoyed—And +stroke down her belly? and then step aside to tie her garter when +she was thinking of her love? Heh, Setter!</p> +<p>SET. Oh, yes, sir.</p> +<p>SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because +I’m in the lady’s favour? No matter, I’ll +make your peace: I know they were a little smart upon you. +But I warrant I’ll bring you into the lady’s good +graces.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Pshaw, I have petitions to show from other-guess +toys than she. Look here; these were sent me this +morning. There, read. [<i>Shows letters</i>]. +That—that’s a scrawl of quality. Here, +here’s from a countess too. Hum—No, +hold—that’s from a knight’s wife—she sent +it me by her husband. But here, both these are from persons +of great quality.</p> +<p>SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, +or no quality at all, ’tis such a damned ugly hand. +[<i>While</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span> <i>reads</i>, +<span class="smcap">Bluffe</span> <i>whispers</i> <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.]</p> +<p>SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this +is so difficult.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Not at all. Don’t I know him?</p> +<p>SET. You’ll remember the conditions?</p> +<p>BLUFF. I’ll give it you under my hand. In +the meantime, here’s earnest. [<i>Gives him +money</i>.] Come, knight, I’m capitulating with Mr. +Setter for you.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I’ll give thee +anything but a night’s lodging.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sharper</span> +<i>tugging in</i> <span class="smcap">Heartwell</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with +me. May be she mayn’t be within. ’Tis but +to yond corner-house.</p> +<p>HEART. Whither? Whither? Which +corner-house.</p> +<p>SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts.</p> +<p>HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? +(O’ons, how my heart aches.)</p> +<p>SHARP. Pshaw, thou’rt so troublesome and +inquisitive. My, I’ll tell you; ’tis a young +creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did you +never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia?</p> +<p>HEART. Death, and hell, and marriage! My +wife! [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that +had found his wife knowing the first night.</p> +<p>HEART. Hell, and the Devil! Does he know it? +But, hold; if he should not, I were a fool to discover it. +I’ll dissemble, and try him. [<i>Aside</i>.] +Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of +melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief?</p> +<p>SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but +have their year of probation before they are cloistered in the +narrow joys of wedlock. But, prithee, come along with me or +I’ll go and have the lady to myself. +B’w’y George. [<i>Going</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! +Death! Shall I own my shame or wittingly let him go and +whore my wife? No, that’s insupportable. O +Sharper!</p> +<p>SHARP. How now?</p> +<p>HEART. Oh, I am married.</p> +<p>SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married!</p> +<p>HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married.</p> +<p>SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long?</p> +<p>HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married +these two hours.</p> +<p>SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a +jest. Ha, ha, ha.</p> +<p>HEART. Death! D’ye mock me? Hark ye, +if either you esteem my friendship, or your own safety—come +not near that house—that corner-house—that hot +brothel. Ask no questions.</p> +<p>SHARP. Mad, by this light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus grief still treads upon the heels of +pleasure:<br /> +Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">SET. Some by experience find these words +misplaced:<br /> +At leisure married, they repent in haste.</p> +<p>As I suppose my master Heartwell.</p> +<p>SHARP. Here again, my Mercury!</p> +<p>SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my +achievements do deserve the epithet—Mercury was a pimp too, +but, though I blush to own it, at this time, I must confess I am +somewhat fallen from the dignity of my function, and do +condescend to be scandalously employed in the promotion of vulgar +matrimony.</p> +<p>SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp?</p> +<p>SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs +depending—our stratagem succeeded as you +intended—Bluffe turns errant traitor; bribes me to make a +private conveyance of the lady to him, and put a shame-settlement +upon Sir Joseph.</p> +<p>SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope—</p> +<p>SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately +informed the knight of the treachery, who has agreed seemingly to +be cheated, that the captain may be so in reality.</p> +<p>SHARP. Where’s the bride?</p> +<p>SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a +friend’s house of mine. Here’s company coming; +if you’ll walk this way, sir, I’ll tell you.</p> +<h3>SCENE X.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>.</p> +<p>VAIN. Oh, ’twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive +it? Men in madness have a title to your pity. +[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Araminta</span>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to +their senses.</p> +<p>VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon.</p> +<p>ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, +how insolent would a real pardon make you! But +there’s no need to forgive what is not worth my anger.</p> +<p>BELIN. O’ my conscience, I could find in my heart +to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee—at least thou art +so troublesome a lover, there’s hopes thou’lt make a +more than ordinary quiet husband. [<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye?</p> +<p>BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the <i>mode</i> have +made marriage a mere French dish.</p> +<p>BELL. I hope there’s no French sauce. +[<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, +your courtship, one would think you meant a noble +entertainment—but when we come to feed, ’tis all +froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, +which have been I know not how many times warmed for other +company, and at last served up cold to the wife.</p> +<p>BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not +afford one warm dish for the wife of his bosom. But you +timorous virgins form a dreadful chimæra of a husband, as +of a creature contrary to that soft, humble, pliant, easy thing, +a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in opposition to the +pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage, is but +as the music in the play-house, until the curtain’s drawn; +but that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure.</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, foh,—no: rather courtship to marriage, +as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.</p> +<h3>SCENE XI.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you’ll bring +the ladies, make haste to Sylvia’s lodgings, before +Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath.</p> +<p>BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge +yourself upon Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. +[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Belinda</span>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast.</p> +<p>ARAM. ’Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never +been at our house since.</p> +<p>BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that +corner-house, and I’ll tell you by the way what may divert +and surprise you.</p> +<h3>SCENE XII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SCENE: <i>Sylvia’s +Lodgings</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Heartwell</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Boy</span>.</p> +<p>HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid?</p> +<p>BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them +out—Setter, I think they called him.</p> +<p>HEART. So-h—that precious pimp too—damned, +damned strumpet! could she not contain herself on her +wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh, cursed state! how +wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life.</p> +<p class="poetry">We hope to find<br /> +That help which Nature meant in womankind,<br /> +To man that supplemental self-designed;<br /> +But proves a burning caustic when applied,<br /> +And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide<br /> +The bone when broken, than when made a bride.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIII.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To him</i>] <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the +chimes of verse were past, when once the doleful marriage-knell +was rung.</p> +<p>HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [<span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span> <i>talk apart</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, +sir.</p> +<p>HEART. ’Tis not in thy nature to give me +joy. A woman can as soon give immortality.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when +they are married.</p> +<p>BELL. That they are fit for no company but their +wives.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I +swear, at the month’s end, you shall hardly find a married +man that will do a civil thing to his wife, or say a civil thing +to anybody else. How he looks already, ha, ha, ha.</p> +<p>BELL. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For +you, sir, I shall find a time; but take off your wasp here, or +the clown may grow boisterous; I have a fly-flap.</p> +<p>BELIN. You have occasion for’t, your wife has been +blown upon.</p> +<p>BELL. That’s home.</p> +<p>HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my +vexation, or anything, but another woman. You’ve +racked my patience; begone, or by—</p> +<p>BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil—thou wilt +not draw upon a woman?</p> +<p>VAIN. What’s the matter?</p> +<p>ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him?</p> +<p>BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced.</p> +<p>VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too +much. ’Tis all serious to him.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nay, I swear, I begin to pity him myself.</p> +<p>HEART. Damn your pity!—but let me be calm a +little. How have I deserved this of you? any of ye? +Sir, have I impaired the honour of your house, promised your +sister marriage, and whored her? Wherein have I injured +you? Did I bring a physician to your father when he lay +expiring, and endeavour to prolong his life, and you one and +twenty? Madam, have I had an opportunity with you and +baulked it? Did you ever offer me the favour that I refused +it? Or—</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh foh! what does the filthy fellow mean? +Lord, let me be gone.</p> +<p>ARAM. Hang me, if I pity you; you are right enough +served.</p> +<p>BELL. This is a little scurrilous though.</p> +<p>VAIN. Nay, ’tis a sore of your own +scratching—well, George?</p> +<p>HEART. You are the principal cause of all my present +ills. If Sylvia had not been your mistress, my wife might +have been honest.</p> +<p>VAIN. And if Sylvia had not been your wife, my mistress +might have been just. There, we are even. But have a +good heart, I heard of your misfortune, and come to your +relief.</p> +<p>HEART. When execution’s over, you offer a +reprieve.</p> +<p>VAIN. What would you give?</p> +<p>HEART. Oh! Anything, everything, a leg or two, or +an arm; nay, I would be divorced from my virility to be divorced +from my wife.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIV.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>VAIN. Faith, that’s a sure way: but here’s +one can sell you freedom better cheap.</p> +<p>SHARP. Vainlove, I have been a kind of a godfather to +you yonder. I have promised and vowed some things in your +name which I think you are bound to perform.</p> +<p>VAIN. No signing to a blank, friend.</p> +<p>SHARP. No, I’ll deal fairly with you. +’Tis a full and free discharge to Sir Joseph Wittal and +Captain Bluffe; for all injuries whatsoever, done unto you by +them, until the present date hereof. How say you?</p> +<p>VAIN. Agreed.</p> +<p>SHARP. Then, let me beg these ladies to wear their +masks, a moment. Come in, gentlemen and ladies.</p> +<p>HEART. What the devil’s all this to me?</p> +<p>VAIN. Patience.</p> +<h3>SCENE the Last</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To them</i>] <span +class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span>, <span class="smcap">Sylvia</span>, +<span class="smcap">Lucy</span>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>BLUFF. All injuries whatsoever, Mr. Sharper.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, ay, whatsoever, Captain, stick to that; +whatsoever.</p> +<p>SHARP. ’Tis done, these gentlemen are witnesses to +the general release.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay, ay, to this instant moment. I have +passed an act of oblivion.</p> +<p>BLUFF. ’Tis very generous, sir, since I needs must +own—</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, no, Captain, you need not own, heh, heh, +heh. ’Tis I must own—</p> +<p>BLUFF.—That you are over-reached too, ha, ha, ha, only a +little art military used—only undermined, or so, as shall +appear by the fair Araminta, my wife’s permission. +Oh, the devil, cheated at last! [<span +class="smcap">Lucy</span> <i>unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Only a little art-military trick, captain, only +countermined, or so. Mr. Vainlove, I suppose you know whom +I have got—now, but all’s forgiven.</p> +<p>VAIN. I know whom you have not got; pray ladies convince +him. [<span class="smcap">Aram.</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Belin.</span> <i>unmask</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ah! oh Lord, my heart aches. Ah! +Setter, a rogue of all sides.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir Joseph, you had better have pre-engaged this +gentleman’s pardon: for though Vainlove be so generous to +forgive the loss of his mistress, I know not how Heartwell may +take the loss of his wife. [<span +class="smcap">Sylvia</span> <i>unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. My wife! By this light ’tis she, the +very cockatrice. O Sharper! Let me embrace +thee. But art thou sure she is really married to him?</p> +<p>SET. Really and lawfully married, I am witness.</p> +<p>SHARP. Bellmour will unriddle to you. [<span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span> <i>goes to</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Pray, madam, who are you? For I find you +and I are like to be better acquainted.</p> +<p>SYLV. The worst of me is, that I am your wife—</p> +<p>SHARP. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as +you fear. A fine lady, and a lady of very good quality.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Thanks to my knighthood, she’s a +lady—</p> +<p>VAIN. That deserves a fool with a better title. +Pray use her as my relation, or you shall hear on’t.</p> +<p>BLUFF. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse?</p> +<p>SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected +accordingly. Well, honest Lucy, fare thee well. I +think, you and I have been play-fellows off and on, any time this +seven years.</p> +<p>LUCY. Hold your prating. I’m thinking what +vocation I shall follow while my spouse is planting laurels in +the wars.</p> +<p>BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I +plant laurels for my head abroad, I may find the branches sprout +at home.</p> +<p>HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank +thee. And I cannot in gratitude (for I see which way thou +art going) see thee fall into the same snare out of which thou +hast delivered me.</p> +<p>BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but +there is a fatality in marriage, for I find I’m +resolute.</p> +<p>HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon +you. For my part, I have once escaped; and when I wed +again, may she be—ugly, as an old bawd.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid—</p> +<p>BELL. Wanton, as a young widow—</p> +<p>SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife.</p> +<p>HEART. Agreed.</p> +<p>BELL. Well; ’midst of these dreadful +denunciations, and notwithstanding the warning and example before +me, I commit myself to lasting durance.</p> +<p>BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. +[<i>Giving her hand</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance?</p> +<p>VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing?</p> +<p>ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of +our friend’s experience first.</p> +<p>BELL. O’ my conscience she dares not consent, for +fear he should recant. [<i>Aside</i>.] Well, we shall +have your company to church in the morning. May be it may +get you an appetite to see us fall to before you. Setter, +did not you tell me?—</p> +<p>SET. They’re at the door: I’ll call +’em in.</p> +<h3>A DANCE.</h3> +<p>BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. +Come take your fellow-travellers. Old George, I’m +sorry to see thee still plod on alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling +bells made proud,<br /> +The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud.<br /> +A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds,<br /> +And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields.<br /> +But, oh—<br /> +What rugged ways attend the noon of life!<br /> +Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife,<br /> +What pain we tug that galling load, a wife.<br /> +All coursers the first heat with vigour run;<br /> +But ’tis with whip and spur the race is won.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt Omnes</i>.]</p> +<h2>EPILOGUE.<br /> +Spoken by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Barry</span>.</h2> +<p class="poetry">As a rash girl, who will all hazards run,<br /> +And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone,<br /> +Soon as her curiosity is over,<br /> +Would give the world she could her toy recover,<br /> +So fares it with our poet; and I’m sent<br /> +To tell you he already does repent:<br /> +Would you were all as forward to keep Lent.<br /> +Now the deed’s done, the giddy thing has leisure<br /> +To think o’ th’ sting, that’s in the tail of +pleasure.<br /> +Methinks I hear him in consideration:<br /> +What will the world say? Where’s my reputation?<br /> +Now that’s at stake. No, fool, ’tis out +o’ fashion.<br /> +If loss of that should follow want of wit,<br /> +How many undone men were in the pit!<br /> +Why that’s some comfort to an author’s fears,<br /> +If he’s an ass, he will be tryed by’s peers.<br /> +But hold, I am exceeding my commission:<br /> +My business here was humbly to petition;<br /> +But we’re so used to rail on these occasions,<br /> +I could not help one trial of your patience:<br /> +For ’tis our way, you know, for fear o’ th’ +worst,<br /> +To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first.<br /> +How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected?<br /> +I swear, young Bays within is so dejected,<br /> +’Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him?<br +/> +But then you cruel critics would so maul him!<br /> +Yet may be you’ll encourage a beginner;<br /> +But how? Just as the devil does a sinner.<br /> +Women and wits are used e’en much at one,<br /> +You gain your end, and damn ’em when you’ve done.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1192-h.htm or 1192-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/1/9/1192 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/1192-h/images/fpb.jpg b/1192-h/images/fpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cd89b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1192-h/images/fpb.jpg diff --git a/1192-h/images/fps.jpg b/1192-h/images/fps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2269bb --- /dev/null +++ b/1192-h/images/fps.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd86549 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1192 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1192) diff --git a/old/1192-h.htm b/old/1192-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5302ca5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1192-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3724 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Old Bachelor</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.headingsummary { margin-left: 5%;} + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve, Edited +by G. S. Street + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Old Bachelor + + +Author: William Congreve + +Editor: G. S. Street + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [eBook #1192] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen and Co. [Comedies of William +Congreve] edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>THE OLD BACHELOR</h1> +<blockquote><p><i>Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria +curru</i>,<br /> +<i>Exanimat lentus spectator</i>; <i>sedulus inflat</i>:<br /> +<i>Sic leve</i>, <i>sic parvum est</i>, <i>animum quod laudis +avarum</i><br /> +<i>Subruit</i>, <i>and reficit</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Horat.</span> <i>Epist.</i> <span +class="smcap">i</span>. lib. ii.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD CLIFFORD OF +LANESBOROUGH, etc.</h2> +<p>My Lord,—It is with a great deal of pleasure that I lay +hold on this first occasion which the accidents of my life have +given me of writing to your lordship: for since at the same time +I write to all the world, it will be a means of publishing (what +I would have everybody know) the respect and duty which I owe and +pay to you. I have so much inclination to be yours that I +need no other engagement. But the particular ties by which +I am bound to your lordship and family have put it out of my +power to make you any compliment, since all offers of myself will +amount to no more than an honest acknowledgment, and only shew a +willingness in me to be grateful.</p> +<p>I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to +be your lordship’s servant, that it might be more my merit; +not that I would avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my +own choice to run me into the debt: that I might have it to +boast, I had distinguished a man to whom I would be glad to be +obliged, even without the hopes of having it in my power ever to +make him a return.</p> +<p>It is impossible for me to come near your lordship in any kind +and not to receive some favour; and while in appearance I am only +making an acknowledgment (with the usual underhand dealing of the +world) I am at the same time insinuating my own interest. I +cannot give your lordship your due, without tacking a bill of my +own privileges. ’Tis true, if a man never committed a +folly, he would never stand in need of a protection. But +then power would have nothing to do, and good nature no occasion +to show itself; and where those qualities are, ’tis pity +they should want objects to shine upon. I must confess this +is no reason why a man should do an idle thing, nor indeed any +good excuse for it when done; yet it reconciles the uses of such +authority and goodness to the necessities of our follies, and is +a sort of poetical logic, which at this time I would make use of, +to argue your lordship into a protection of this play. It +is the first offence I have committed in this kind, or indeed, in +any kind of poetry, though not the first made public, and +therefore I hope will the more easily be pardoned. But had +it been acted, when it was first written, more might have been +said in its behalf: ignorance of the town and stage would then +have been excuses in a young writer, which now almost four +years’ experience will scarce allow of. Yet I must +declare myself sensible of the good nature of the town, in +receiving this play so kindly, with all its faults, which I must +own were, for the most part, very industriously covered by the +care of the players; for I think scarce a character but received +all the advantage it would admit of from the justness of the +action.</p> +<p>As for the critics, my lord, I have nothing to say to, or +against, any of them of any kind: from those who make just +exceptions, to those who find fault in the wrong place. I +will only make this general answer in behalf of my play (an +answer which Epictetus advises every man to make for himself to +his censurers), viz.: ‘That if they who find some faults in +it, were as intimate with it as I am, they would find a great +many more.’ This is a confession, which I needed not +to have made; but however, I can draw this use from it to my own +advantage: that I think there are no faults in it but what I do +know; which, as I take it, is the first step to an amendment.</p> +<p>Thus I may live in hopes (sometime or other) of making the +town amends; but you, my lord, I never can, though I am ever your +lordship’s most obedient and most humble servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">WILL. CONGREVE.</p> +<h2>TO MR. CONGREVE.</h2> +<p>When virtue in pursuit of fame appears,<br /> +And forward shoots the growth beyond the years.<br /> +We timely court the rising hero’s cause,<br /> +And on his side the poet wisely draws,<br /> +Bespeaking him hereafter by applause.<br /> +The days will come, when we shall all receive<br /> +Returning interest from what now we give,<br /> +Instructed and supported by that praise<br /> +And reputation which we strive to raise.<br /> +Nature so coy, so hardly to be wooed,<br /> +Flies, like a mistress, but to be pursued.<br /> +O Congreve! boldly follow on the chase:<br /> +She looks behind and wants thy strong embrace:<br /> +She yields, she yields, surrenders all her charms,<br /> +Do you but force her gently to your arms:<br /> +Such nerves, such graces, in your lines appear,<br /> +As you were made to be her ravisher.<br /> +Dryden has long extended his command,<br /> +By right divine, quite through the muses’ land,<br /> +Absolute lord; and holding now from none,<br /> +But great Apollo, his undoubted crown.<br /> +That empire settled, and grown old in power<br /> +Can wish for nothing but a successor:<br /> +Not to enlarge his limits, but maintain<br /> +Those provinces, which he alone could gain.<br /> +His eldest Wycherly, in wise retreat,<br /> +Thought it not worth his quiet to be great.<br /> +Loose, wand’ring Etherege, in wild pleasures tost,<br /> +And foreign int’rests, to his hopes long lost:<br /> +Poor Lee and Otway dead! Congreve appears,<br /> +The darling, and last comfort of his years.<br /> +May’st thou live long in thy great master’s +smiles,<br /> +And growing under him, adorn these isles.<br /> +But when—when part of him (be that but late)<br /> +His body yielding must submit to fate,<br /> +Leaving his deathless works and thee behind<br /> +(The natural successor of his mind),<br /> +Then may’st thou finish what he has begun:<br /> +Heir to his merit, be in fame his son.<br /> +What thou hast done, shews all is in thy pow’r,<br /> +And to write better, only must write more.<br /> +’Tis something to be willing to commend;<br /> +But my best praise is, that I am your friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">THO. SOUTHERNE.</p> +<h2>TO MR. CONGREVE.</h2> +<p>The danger’s great in these censorious days,<br /> +When critics are so rife to venture praise:<br /> +When the infectious and ill-natured brood<br /> +Behold, and damn the work, because ’tis good,<br /> +And with a proud, ungenerous spirit, try<br /> +To pass an ostracism on poetry.<br /> +But you, my friend, your worth does safely bear<br /> +Above their spleen; you have no cause for fear;<br /> +Like a well-mettled hawk, you took your flight<br /> +Quite out of reach, and almost out of sight.<br /> +As the strong sun, in a fair summer’s day,<br /> +You rise, and drive the mists and clouds away,<br /> +The owls and bats, and all the birds of prey.<br /> +Each line of yours, like polished steel’s so hard,<br /> +In beauty safe, it wants no other guard.<br /> +Nature herself’s beholden to your dress,<br /> +Which though still like, much fairer you express.<br /> +Some vainly striving honour to obtain,<br /> +Leave to their heirs the traffic of their brain:<br /> +Like China under ground, the ripening ware,<br /> +In a long time, perhaps grows worth our care.<br /> +But you now reap the fame, so well you’ve sown;<br /> +The planter tastes his fruit to ripeness grown.<br /> +As a fair orange-tree at once is seen<br /> +Big with what’s ripe, yet springing still with green,<br /> +So at one time, my worthy friend appears,<br /> +With all the sap of youth, and weight of years.<br /> +Accept my pious love, as forward zeal,<br /> +Which though it ruins me I can’t conceal:<br /> +Exposed to censure for my weak applause,<br /> +I’m pleased to suffer in so just a cause;<br /> +And though my offering may unworthy prove,<br /> +Take, as a friend, the wishes of my love.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">J. MARSH.</p> +<h2>TO MR. CONGREVE, ON HIS PLAY CALLED<br /> +THE OLD BACHELOR.</h2> +<p>Wit, like true gold, refined from all allay,<br /> +Immortal is, and never can decay:<br /> +’Tis in all times and languages the same,<br /> +Nor can an ill translation quench the flame:<br /> +For, though the form and fashion don’t remain,<br /> +The intrinsic value still it will retain.<br /> +Then let each studied scene be writ with art,<br /> +And judgment sweat to form the laboured part.<br /> +Each character be just, and nature seem:<br /> +Without th’ ingredient, wit, ’tis all but phlegm:<br +/> +For that’s the soul, which all the mass must move,<br /> +And wake our passions into grief or love.<br /> +But you, too bounteous, sow your wit so thick,<br /> +We are surprised, and know not where to pick;<br /> +And while with clapping we are just to you,<br /> +Ourselves we injure, and lose something new.<br /> +What mayn’t we then, great youth, of thee presage,<br /> +Whose art and wit so much transcend thy age?<br /> +How wilt thou shine at thy meridian height,<br /> +Who, at thy rising, giv’st so vast a light?<br /> +When Dryden dying shall the world deceive,<br /> +Whom we immortal, as his works, believe,<br /> +Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage,<br /> +Adorn and entertain the coming age.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">BEVIL. HIGGONS.</p> +<h2>PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR THE OLD BACHELOR.<br /> +Written by the <span class="smcap">Lord Falkland</span>.</h2> +<p>Most authors on the stage at first appear<br /> +Like widows’ bridegrooms, full of doubt and fear:<br /> +They judge, from the experience of the dame,<br /> +How hard a task it is to quench her flame;<br /> +And who falls short of furnishing a course<br /> +Up to his brawny predecessor’s force,<br /> +With utmost rage from her embraces thrown,<br /> +Remains convicted as an empty drone.<br /> +Thus often, to his shame, a pert beginner<br /> +Proves in the end a miserable sinner.<br /> + As for our youngster, I am apt to doubt him,<br /> +With all the vigour of his youth about him;<br /> +But he, more sanguine, trusts in one and twenty,<br /> +And impudently hopes he shall content you:<br /> +For though his bachelor be worn and cold,<br /> +He thinks the young may club to help the old,<br /> +And what alone can be achieved by neither,<br /> +Is often brought about by both together.<br /> +The briskest of you all have felt alarms,<br /> +Finding the fair one prostitute her charms<br /> +With broken sighs, in her old fumbler’s arms:<br /> +But for our spark, he swears he’ll ne’er be +jealous<br /> +Of any rivals, but young lusty fellows.<br /> +Faith, let him try his chance, and if the slave,<br /> +After his bragging, prove a washy knave,<br /> +May he be banished to some lonely den<br /> +And never more have leave to dip his pen.<br /> +But if he be the champion he pretends,<br /> +Both sexes sure will join to be his friends,<br /> +For all agree, where all can have their ends.<br /> +And you must own him for a man of might,<br /> +If he holds out to please you the third night.</p> +<h2>PROLOGUE.<br /> +Spoken by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Bracegirdle</span>.</h2> +<p>How this vile world is changed! In former days<br /> +Prologues were serious speeches before plays,<br /> +Grave, solemn things, as graces are to feasts,<br /> +Where poets begged a blessing from their guests.<br /> +But now no more like suppliants we come;<br /> +A play makes war, and prologue is the drum.<br /> +Armed with keen satire and with pointed wit,<br /> +We threaten you who do for judges sit,<br /> +To save our plays, or else we’ll damn your pit.<br /> +But for your comfort, it falls out to-day,<br /> +We’ve a young author and his first-born play;<br /> +So, standing only on his good behaviour,<br /> +He’s very civil, and entreats your favour.<br /> +Not but the man has malice, would he show it,<br /> +But on my conscience he’s a bashful poet;<br /> +You think that strange—no matter, he’ll outgrow +it.<br /> +Well, I’m his advocate: by me he prays you<br /> +(I don’t know whether I shall speak to please you),<br /> +He prays—O bless me! what shall I do now?<br /> +Hang me if I know what he prays, or how!<br /> +And ’twas the prettiest prologue as he wrote it!<br /> +Well, the deuce take me, if I han’t forgot it.<br /> +O Lord, for heav’n’s sake excuse the play,<br /> +Because, you know, if it be damned to-day,<br /> +I shall be hanged for wanting what to say.<br /> +For my sake then—but I’m in such confusion,<br /> +I cannot stay to hear your resolution.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Runs off</i>.]</p> +<h2>DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.</h2> +<h3>MEN.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, a surly old bachelor, +pretending to slight women, secretly in love with +Silvia—Mr. Betterton.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, in love with +Belinda—Mr. Powell<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, capricious in his love; in +love with Araminta—Mr. Williams<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sharper</span>,—Mr. Verbruggen<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sir Joseph Wittol</span>,—Mr. Bowen<br +/> +<span class="smcap">Captain Bluffe</span>,—Mr. Haines.<br +/> +<span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, a banker—Mr. +Dogget<br /> +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>, a pimp—Mr Underhill<br +/> +<span class="smcap">Servant</span> to Fondlewife.</p> +<h3>WOMEN.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span>, in love with +Vainlove—Mrs. Bracegirdle<br /> +<span class="smcap">Belinda</span>, her cousin, an affected lady, +in love with Bellmour—Mrs. Mountfort<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, wife to +Fondlewife—Mrs. Barry<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sylvia</span>, Vainlove’s forsaken +mistress—Mrs. Bowman<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lucy</span>, her maid—Mrs. Leigh<br /> +<span class="smcap">Betty</span>.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boy</span> and <span +class="smcap">Footmen</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: +London.</p> +<h2>ACT I.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>meeting</i>.</p> +<p>BELL. Vainlove, and abroad so early! Good-morrow; +I thought a contemplative lover could no more have parted with +his bed in a morning than he could have slept in’t.</p> +<p>VAIN. Bellmour, good-morrow. Why, truth on’t +is, these early sallies are not usual to me; but business, as you +see, sir—[<i>Showing Letters</i>.] And business must +be followed, or be lost.</p> +<p>BELL. Business! And so must time, my friend, be +close pursued, or lost. Business is the rub of life, +perverts our aim, casts off the bias, and leaves us wide and +short of the intended mark.</p> +<p>VAIN. Pleasure, I guess you mean.</p> +<p>BELL. Ay; what else has meaning?</p> +<p>VAIN. Oh, the wise will tell you—</p> +<p>BELL. More than they believe—or understand.</p> +<p>VAIN. How, how, Ned! A wise man say more than he +understands?</p> +<p>BELL. Ay, ay! Wisdom’s nothing but a +pretending to know and believe more than we really do. You +read of but one wise man, and all that he knew was, that he knew +nothing. Come, come, leave business to idlers and wisdom to +fools; they have need of ’em. Wit be my faculty, and +pleasure my occupation; and let Father Time shake his +glass. Let low and earthly souls grovel till they have +worked themselves six foot deep into a grave. Business is +not my element—I roll in a higher orb, and dwell—</p> +<p>VAIN. In castles i’ th’ air of thy own +building. That’s thy element, Ned. Well, as +high a flier as you are, I have a lure may make you stoop. +[<i>Flings a Letter</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. I, marry, sir, I have a hawk’s eye at a +woman’s hand. There’s more elegancy in the +false spelling of this superscription [<i>takes up the +Letter</i>] than in all Cicero. Let me see.—How +now!—Dear <i>perfidious Vainlove</i>. +[<i>Reads</i>.]</p> +<p>VAIN. Hold, hold, ’slife, that’s the +wrong.</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, let’s see the +name—Sylvia!—how canst thou be ungrateful to that +creature? She’s extremely pretty, and loves thee +entirely—I have heard her breathe such raptures about +thee—</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay, or anybody that she’s about—</p> +<p>BELL. No, faith, Frank, you wrong her; she has been just +to you.</p> +<p>VAIN. That’s pleasant, by my troth, from thee, who +hast had her.</p> +<p>BELL. Never—her affections. ’Tis true, +by heaven: she owned it to my face; and, blushing like the virgin +morn when it disclosed the cheat which that trusty bawd of +nature, night, had hid, confessed her soul was true to you; +though I by treachery had stolen the bliss.</p> +<p>VAIN. So was true as turtle—in +imagination—Ned, ha? Preach this doctrine to +husbands, and the married women will adore thee.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, faith, I think it will do well enough, if the +husband be out of the way, for the wife to show her fondness and +impatience of his absence by choosing a lover as like him as she +can; and what is unlike, she may help out with her own fancy.</p> +<p>VAIN. But is it not an abuse to the lover to be made a +blind of?</p> +<p>BELL. As you say, the abuse is to the lover, not the +husband. For ’tis an argument of her great zeal +towards him, that she will enjoy him in effigy.</p> +<p>VAIN. It must be a very superstitious country where such +zeal passes for true devotion. I doubt it will be damned by +all our Protestant husbands for flat idolatry. But, if you +can make Alderman Fondlewife of your persuasion, this letter will +be needless.</p> +<p>BELL. What! The old banker with the handsome +wife?</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay.</p> +<p>BELL. Let me see—<i>Lætitia</i>! Oh, +’tis a delicious morsel. Dear Frank, thou art the +truest friend in the world.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay, am I not? To be continually starting of +hares for you to course. We were certainly cut out for one +another; for my temper quits an amour just where thine takes it +up. But read that; it is an appointment for me, this +evening—when Fondlewife will be gone out of town, to meet +the master of a ship, about the return of a venture which +he’s in danger of losing. Read, read.</p> +<p>BELL. [<i>reads</i>.] Hum, Hum—Out of town +this evening, and talks of sending for Mr. Spintext to keep me +company; but I’ll take care he shall not be at home. +Good! Spintext! Oh, the fanatic one-eyed parson!</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay.</p> +<p>BELL. [<i>reads</i>.] Hum, Hum—That your +conversation will be much more agreeable, if you can counterfeit +his habit to blind the servants. Very good! Then I +must be disguised?—With all my heart!—It adds a gusto +to an amour; gives it the greater resemblance of theft; and, +among us lewd mortals, the deeper the sin the sweeter. +Frank, I’m amazed at thy good nature—</p> +<p>VAIN. Faith, I hate love when ’tis forced upon a +man, as I do wine. And this business is none of my seeking; +I only happened to be, once or twice, where Lætitia was the +handsomest woman in company; so, consequently, applied myself to +her—and it seems she has taken me at my word. Had you +been there, or anybody, ’t had been the same.</p> +<p>BELL. I wish I may succeed as the same.</p> +<p>VAIN. Never doubt it; for if the spirit of cuckoldom be +once raised up in a woman, the devil can’t lay it, until +she has done’t.</p> +<p>BELL. Prithee, what sort of fellow is Fondlewife?</p> +<p>VAIN. A kind of mongrel zealot, sometimes very precise +and peevish. But I have seen him pleasant enough in his +way; much addicted to jealousy, but more to fondness; so that as +he is often jealous without a cause, he’s as often +satisfied without reason.</p> +<p>BELL. A very even temper, and fit for my purpose. +I must get your man Setter to provide my disguise.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay; you may take him for good and all, if you +will, for you have made him fit for nobody else. +Well—</p> +<p>BELL. You’re going to visit in return of +Sylvia’s letter. Poor rogue! Any hour of the +day or night will serve her. But do you know nothing of a +new rival there?</p> +<p>VAIN. Yes; Heartwell—that surly, old, pretended +woman-hater—thinks her virtuous; that’s one reason +why I fail her. I would have her fret herself out of +conceit with me, that she may entertain some thoughts of +him. I know he visits her every day.</p> +<p>BELL. Yet rails on still, and thinks his love unknown to +us. A little time will swell him so, he must be forced to +give it birth; and the discovery must needs be very pleasant from +himself, to see what pains he will take, and how he will strain +to be delivered of a secret, when he has miscarried of it +already.</p> +<p>VAIN. Well, good-morrow. Let’s dine +together; I’ll meet at the old place.</p> +<p>BELL. With all my heart. It lies convenient for us +to pay our afternoon services to our mistresses. I find I +am damnably in love, I’m so uneasy for not having seen +Belinda yesterday.</p> +<p>VAIN. But I saw my Araminta, yet am as impatient.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, what a cormorant in love am I! Who, not +contented with the slavery of honourable love in one place, and +the pleasure of enjoying some half a score mistresses of my own +acquiring, must yet take Vainlove’s business upon my hands, +because it lay too heavy upon his; so am not only forced to lie +with other men’s wives for ’em, but must also +undertake the harder task of obliging their mistresses. I +must take up, or I shall never hold out. Flesh and blood +cannot bear it always.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p>[<i>To him</i>] <span class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. I’m sorry to see this, Ned. Once a +man comes to his soliloquies, I give him for gone.</p> +<p>BELL. Sharper, I’m glad to see thee.</p> +<p>SHARP. What! is Belinda cruel, that you are so +thoughtful?</p> +<p>BELL. No, faith, not for that. But there’s a +business of consequence fallen out to-day that requires some +consideration.</p> +<p>SHARP. Prithee, what mighty business of consequence +canst thou have?</p> +<p>BELL. Why, you must know, ’tis a piece of work +toward the finishing of an alderman. It seems I must put +the last hand to it, and dub him cuckold, that he may be of equal +dignity with the rest of his brethren: so I must beg +Belinda’s pardon.</p> +<p>SHARP. Faith, e’en give her over for good and all; +you can have no hopes of getting her for a mistress; and she is +too proud, too inconstant, too affected and too witty, and too +handsome for a wife.</p> +<p>BELL. But she can’t have too much money. +There’s twelve thousand pound, Tom. ’Tis true +she is excessively foppish and affected; but in my conscience I +believe the baggage loves me: for she never speaks well of me +herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me. Then, as I +told you, there’s twelve thousand pound. Hum! +Why, faith, upon second thoughts, she does not appear to be so +very affected neither.—Give her her due, I think the +woman’s a woman, and that’s all. As such, +I’m sure I shall like her; for the devil take me if I +don’t love all the sex.</p> +<p>SHARP. And here comes one who swears as heartily he +hates all the sex.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Heartwell</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Who? Heartwell? Ay, but he knows +better things. How now, George, where hast thou been +snarling odious truths, and entertaining company, like a +physician, with discourse of their diseases and +infirmities? What fine lady hast thou been putting out of +conceit with herself, and persuading that the face she had been +making all the morning was none of her own? For I know thou +art as unmannerly and as unwelcome to a woman as a looking-glass +after the smallpox.</p> +<p>HEART. I confess I have not been sneering fulsome lies +and nauseous flattery; fawning upon a little tawdry whore, that +will fawn upon me again, and entertain any puppy that comes, like +a tumbler, with the same tricks over and over. For such, I +guess, may have been your late employment.</p> +<p>BELL. Would thou hadst come a little sooner. +Vainlove would have wrought thy conversion, and been a champion +for the cause.</p> +<p>HEART. What! has he been here? That’s one of +love’s April fools; is always upon some errand that’s +to no purpose; ever embarking in adventures, yet never comes to +harbour.</p> +<p>SHARP. That’s because he always sets out in foul +weather, loves to buffet with the winds, meet the tide, and sail +in the teeth of opposition.</p> +<p>HEART. What! Has he not dropt anchor at +Araminta?</p> +<p>BELL. Truth on’t is she fits his temper best, is a +kind of floating island; sometimes seems in reach, then vanishes +and keeps him busied in the search.</p> +<p>SHARP. She had need have a good share of sense to manage +so capricious a lover.</p> +<p>BELL. Faith I don’t know, he’s of a temper +the most easy to himself in the world; he takes as much always of +an amour as he cares for, and quits it when it grows stale or +unpleasant.</p> +<p>SHARP. An argument of very little passion, very good +understanding, and very ill nature.</p> +<p>HEART. And proves that Vainlove plays the fool with +discretion.</p> +<p>SHARP. You, Bellmour, are bound in gratitude to stickle +for him; you with pleasure reap that fruit, which he takes pains +to sow: he does the drudgery in the mine, and you stamp your +image on the gold.</p> +<p>BELL. He’s of another opinion, and says I do the +drudgery in the mine. Well, we have each our share of +sport, and each that which he likes best; ’tis his +diversion to set, ’tis mine to cover the partridge.</p> +<p>HEART. And it should be mine to let ’em go +again.</p> +<p>SHARP. Not till you had mouthed a little, George. +I think that’s all thou art fit for now.</p> +<p>HEART. Good Mr. Young-Fellow, you’re mistaken; as +able as yourself, and as nimble, too, though I mayn’t have +so much mercury in my limbs; ’tis true, indeed, I +don’t force appetite, but wait the natural call of my lust, +and think it time enough to be lewd after I have had the +temptation.</p> +<p>BELL. Time enough, ay, too soon, I should rather have +expected, from a person of your gravity.</p> +<p>HEART. Yet it is oftentimes too late with some of you +young, termagant, flashy sinners—you have all the guilt of +the intention, and none of the pleasure of the +practice—’tis true you are so eager in pursuit of the +temptation, that you save the devil the trouble of leading you +into it. Nor is it out of discretion that you don’t +swallow that very hook yourselves have baited, but you are cloyed +with the preparative, and what you mean for a whet, turns the +edge of your puny stomachs. Your love is like your courage, +which you show for the first year or two upon all occasions; till +in a little time, being disabled or disarmed, you abate of your +vigour; and that daring blade which was so often drawn, is bound +to the peace for ever after.</p> +<p>BELL. Thou art an old fornicator of a singular good +principle indeed, and art for encouraging youth, that they may be +as wicked as thou art at thy years.</p> +<p>HEART. I am for having everybody be what they pretend to +be: a whoremaster be a whoremaster, and not like Vainlove, kiss a +lap-dog with passion, when it would disgust him from the +lady’s own lips.</p> +<p>BELL. That only happens sometimes, where the dog has the +sweeter breath, for the more cleanly conveyance. But, +George, you must not quarrel with little gallantries of this +nature: women are often won by ’em. Who would refuse +to kiss a lap-dog, if it were preliminary to the lips of his +lady?</p> +<p>SHARP. Or omit playing with her fan, and cooling her if +she were hot, when it might entitle him to the office of warming +her when she should be cold?</p> +<p>BELL. What is it to read a play in a rainy day? +Though you should be now and then interrupted in a witty scene, +and she perhaps preserve her laughter, till the jest were over; +even that may be borne with, considering the reward in +prospect.</p> +<p>HEART. I confess you that are women’s asses bear +greater burdens: are forced to undergo dressing, dancing, +singing, sighing, whining, rhyming, flattering, lying, grinning, +cringing, and the drudgery of loving to boot.</p> +<p>BELL. O brute, the drudgery of loving!</p> +<p>HEART. Ay! Why, to come to love through all these +incumbrances is like coming to an estate overcharged with debts, +which, by the time you have paid, yields no further profit than +what the bare tillage and manuring of the land will produce at +the expense of your own sweat.</p> +<p>BELL. Prithee, how dost thou love?</p> +<p>SHARP. He! He hates the sex.</p> +<p>HEART. So I hate physic too—yet I may love to take +it for my health.</p> +<p>BELL. Well come off, George, if at any time you should +be taken straying.</p> +<p>SHARP. He has need of such an excuse, considering the +present state of his body.</p> +<p>HEART. How d’ye mean?</p> +<p>SHARP. Why, if whoring be purging, as you call it, then, +I may say, marriage is entering into a course of physic.</p> +<p>BELL. How, George! Does the wind blow there?</p> +<p>HEART. It will as soon blow north and by +south—marry, quotha! I hope in heaven I have a +greater portion of grace, and I think I have baited too many of +those traps to be caught in one myself.</p> +<p>BELL. Who the devil would have thee? unless ’twere +an oysterwoman to propagate young fry for Billingsgate—thy +talent will never recommend thee to anything of better +quality.</p> +<p>HEART. My talent is chiefly that of speaking truth, +which I don’t expect should ever recommend me to people of +quality. I thank heaven I have very honestly purchased the +hatred of all the great families in town.</p> +<p>SHARP. And you in return of spleen hate them. But +could you hope to be received into the alliance of a noble +family—</p> +<p>HEART. No; I hope I shall never merit that affliction, +to be punished with a wife of birth, be a stag of the first head +and bear my horns aloft, like one of the supporters of my +wife’s coat. S’death I would not be a Cuckold +to e’er an illustrious whore in England.</p> +<p>BELL. What, not to make your family, man and provide for +your children?</p> +<p>SHARP. For her children, you mean.</p> +<p>HEART. Ay, there you’ve nicked it. +There’s the devil upon devil. Oh, the pride and joy +of heart ’twould be to me to have my son and heir resemble +such a duke; to have a fleering coxcomb scoff and cry, ‘Mr. +your son’s mighty like his Grace, has just his smile and +air of’s face.’ Then replies another, +‘Methinks he has more of the Marquess of such a place about +his nose and eyes, though he has my Lord +what-d’ye-call’s mouth to a tittle.’ Then +I, to put it off as unconcerned, come chuck the infant under the +chin, force a smile, and cry, ‘Ay, the boy takes after his +mother’s relations,’ when the devil and she knows +’tis a little compound of the whole body of nobility.</p> +<p>BELL+SHARP. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>BELL. Well, but, George, I have one question to ask +you—</p> +<p>HEART. Pshaw, I have prattled away my time. I hope +you are in no haste for an answer, for I shan’t stay +now. [<i>Looking on his watch</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, prithee, George—</p> +<p>HEART. No; besides my business, I see a fool coming this +way. Adieu.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. What does he mean? Oh, ’tis Sir Joseph +Wittoll with his friend; but I see he has turned the corner and +goes another way.</p> +<p>SHARP. What in the name of wonder is it?</p> +<p>BELL. Why, a fool.</p> +<p>SHARP. ’Tis a tawdry outside.</p> +<p>BELL. And a very beggarly lining—yet he may be +worth your acquaintance; a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may +extract gold from that dirt.</p> +<p>SHARP. Say you so? ’Faith I am as poor as a +chymist, and would be as industrious. But what was he that +followed him? Is not he a dragon that watches those golden +pippins?</p> +<p>BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, +’tis a very peaceful one. I can ensure his anger +dormant; or should he seem to rouse, ’tis but well lashing +him, and he will sleep like a top.</p> +<p>SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney?</p> +<p>BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, +as the image of valour. He calls him his back, and indeed +they are never asunder—yet, last night, I know not by what +mischance, the knight was alone, and had fallen into the hands of +some night-walkers, who, I suppose, would have pillaged +him. But I chanced to come by and rescued him, though I +believe he was heartily frightened; for as soon as ever he was +loose, he ran away without staying to see who had helped him.</p> +<p>SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army?</p> +<p>BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a +soldier, which nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black +gown does atheism. You must know he has been +abroad—went purely to run away from a campaign; enriched +himself with the plunder of a few oaths, and here vents them +against the general, who, slighting men of merit, and preferring +only those of interest, has made him quit the service.</p> +<p>SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own +performance.</p> +<p>BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own +praise—the only implement of a soldier he resembles, like +that, being full of blustering noise and emptiness—</p> +<p>SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten.</p> +<p>BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will +take a drubbing with as little noise as a pulpit cushion.</p> +<p>SHARP. His name, and I have done?</p> +<p>BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded +with a title: he is called Capt. Bluffe.</p> +<p>SHARP. Well, I’ll endeavour his +acquaintance—you steer another course, are bound—</p> +<blockquote><p>For love’s island: I, for the golden +coast.<br /> +May each succeed in what he wishes most.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>ACT II.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir Joseph Wittoll</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span> <i>following</i>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sure that’s he, and alone.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Um—Ay, this, this is the very damned +place; the inhuman cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would +have butchered me last night. No doubt they would have +flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and devoured, etc.</p> +<p>SHARP. How’s this!</p> +<p>SIR JO. An it hadn’t been for a civil gentleman as +came by and frighted ’em away—but, agad, I durst not +stay to give him thanks.</p> +<p>SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I +have a thought—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very +remembrance makes me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to +this place heartily.</p> +<p>SHARP. ’Tis but trying, and being where I am at +worst, now luck!—cursed fortune! this must be the place, +this damned unlucky place—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Agad, and so ’tis. Why, here has +been more mischief done, I perceive.</p> +<p>SHARP. No, ’tis gone, ’tis lost—ten +thousand devils on that chance which drew me hither; ay, here, +just here, this spot to me is hell; nothing to be found, but the +despair of what I’ve lost. [<i>Looking about as in +search</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry +I’ll stay no longer, for I have found too—</p> +<p>SHARP. Ha! who’s that has found? What have +you found? Restore it quickly, or by—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Not I, sir, not I; as I’ve a soul to be +saved, I have found nothing but what has been to my loss, as I +may say, and as you were saying, sir.</p> +<p>SHARP. Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it +seems. ’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good. +Well, you may rejoice over my ill fortune, since it paid the +price of your ransom.</p> +<p>SIR JO. I rejoice! agad, not I, sir: I’m very +sorry for your loss, with all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and +if you did but know me, you’d ne’er say I were so +ill-natured.</p> +<p>SHARP. Know you! Why, can you be so ungrateful to +forget me?</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, forget him! No, no, sir, I +don’t forget you—because I never saw your face +before, agad. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>SHARP. How! [<i>Angrily</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Stay, stay, sir, let me +recollect—he’s a damned angry fellow—I believe +I had better remember him, until I can get out of his sight; but +out of sight out of mind, agad. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. Methought the service I did you last night, sir, +in preserving you from those ruffians, might have taken better +root in your shallow memory.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is +the very gentleman! How shall I make him a return suitable +to the greatness of his merit? I had a pretty thing to that +purpose, if he ha’n’t frighted it out of my +memory. Hem! hem! sir, I most submissively implore your +pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and omission; having +my entire dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of your goodness, +which, like an inundation, will, I hope, totally immerge the +recollection of my error, and leave me floating, in your sight, +upon the full-blown bladders of repentance—by the help of +which, I shall once more hope to swim into your favour. +[<i>Bows</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the +acknowledgment of a gentleman—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Acknowledgment! Sir, I am all over +acknowledgment, and will not stick to show it in the greatest +extremity by night or by day, in sickness or in health, winter or +summer; all seasons and occasions shall testify the reality and +gratitude of your superabundant humble servant, Sir Joseph +Wittoll, knight. Hem! hem!</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir Joseph Wittoll?</p> +<p>SIR JO. The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in +<i>Comitatu</i> Bucks.</p> +<p>SHARP. Is it possible! Then I am happy to have +obliged the mirror of knighthood and pink of courtesie in the +age. Let me embrace you.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, sir!</p> +<p>SHARP. My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with +interest, since it has purchased me the friendship and +acquaintance of the person in the world whose character I +admire.</p> +<p>SIR JO. You are only pleased to say so, sir. But, +pray, if I may be so bold, what is that loss you mention?</p> +<p>SHARP. Oh, term it no longer so, sir. In the +scuffle last night I only dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, +I confess, I came half despairing to recover; but, thanks to my +better fortune—</p> +<p>SIR JO. You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I +profess I’m heartily glad—</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir, your humble servant. I don’t +question but you are, that you have so cheap an opportunity of +expressing your gratitude and generosity, since the paying so +trivial a sum will wholly acquit you and doubly engage me.</p> +<p>SIR JO. What a dickens does he mean by a trivial +sum? [<i>Aside</i>.] But ha’n’t you found +it, sir!</p> +<p>SHARP. No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in +you, sir.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Humh.</p> +<p>SHARP. But that’s sufficient. ’Twere +injustice to doubt the honour of Sir Joseph Wittoll.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, sir.</p> +<p>SHARP. You are above, I’m sure, a thought so low, +to suffer me to lose what was ventured in your service; nay, +’twas in a manner paid down for your deliverance; +’twas so much lent you. And you scorn, I’ll say +that for you—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, I’ll say that for myself, with your +leave, sir, I do scorn a dirty thing. But, agad, I’m +a little out of pocket at present.</p> +<p>SHARP. Pshaw, you can’t want a hundred +pound. Your word is sufficient anywhere. ’Tis +but borrowing so much dirt. You have large acres, and can +soon repay it. Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph—mere +dirt.</p> +<p>SIR JO. But, I profess, ’tis a dirt I have washed +my hands of at present; I have laid it all out upon my Back.</p> +<p>SHARP. Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir +Joseph?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, +ha, a very good jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and +that’s a better jest than t’other. ’Tis a +sign you and I ha’n’t been long acquainted; you have +lost a good jest for want of knowing me—I only mean a +friend of mine whom I call my Back; he sticks as close to me, and +follows me through all dangers—he is indeed back, breast, +and head-piece, as it were, to me. Agad, he’s a brave +fellow. Pauh, I am quite another thing when I am with him: +I don’t fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by. +Ah! had he been with me last night—</p> +<p>SHARP. If he had, sir, what then? he could have done no +more, nor perhaps have suffered so much. Had he a hundred +pound to lose? [<i>Angrily</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved +a hundred pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir +(a damned hot fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all +my ready money to redeem his great sword from limbo. But, +sir, I have a letter of credit to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as +two hundred pound, and this afternoon you shall see I am a +person, such a one as you would wish to have met with—</p> +<p>SHARP. That you are, I’ll be sworn. +[<i>Aside</i>.] Why, that’s great and like +yourself.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Captain +Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Oh, here a’ comes—Ay, my Hector of +Troy, welcome, my bully, my Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit +pat for thee.</p> +<p>BLUFF. How now, my young knight? Not for fear, I +hope; he that knows me must be a stranger to fear.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to +have died of a fright. But—</p> +<p>BLUFF. But? Look you here, boy, here’s your +antidote, here’s your Jesuits’ powder for a shaking +fit. But who hast thou got with thee? is he of +mettle? [<i>Laying his hand upon his sword</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: ’a +will fight like a cock.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Say you so? Then I honour him. But +has he been abroad? for every cock will fight upon his own +dunghill.</p> +<p>SIR JO. I don’t know, but I’ll present +you—</p> +<p>BLUFF. I’ll recommend myself. Sir, I honour +you; I understand you love fighting, I reverence a man that loves +fighting. Sir, I kiss your hilts.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, +unless it be to serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, +my country, or my religion, or in some very justifiable cause, +I’m not for it.</p> +<p>BLUFF. O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are +not of my palate: you can’t relish a dish of fighting +without sweet sauce. Now, I think fighting for fighting +sake’s sufficient cause; fighting to me’s religion +and the laws.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir? +by the Lord Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and +cloth to him. But, Back, this gentleman is one of the best +friends I have in the world, and saved my life last +night—you know I told you.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Ay! Then I honour him again. Sir, may +I crave your name?</p> +<p>SHARP. Ay, sir, my name’s Sharper.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very +well. By the Lord Harry, Mr. Sharper, he’s as brave a +fellow as Cannibal, are not you, Bully-Back?</p> +<p>SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a +very pretty fellow—but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are +odious—Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it +must be granted—but alas, sir! were he alive now, he would +be nothing, nothing in the earth.</p> +<p>SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at +this day a greater general breathing.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, +sir?</p> +<p>SHARP. Not I, really, sir.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know +nothing, sir: I am afraid you scarce know the history of the late +war in Flanders, with all its particulars.</p> +<p>SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or +gazettes tell us.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, +sir, there are not three words of truth the year round put into +the Gazette. I’ll tell you a strange thing now as to +that. You must know, sir, I was resident in Flanders the +last campaign, had a small post there, but no matter for +that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of moment +done but an humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, was +an eye-witness of. I won’t say had the greatest share +in’t, though I might say that too, since I name nobody you +know. Well, Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In all +this time, as I hope for a truncheon, this rascally +gazette-writer never so much as once mentioned me—not once, +by the wars—took no more notice than as if Nol. Bluffe had +not been in the land of the living.</p> +<p>SHARP. Strange!</p> +<p>SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, ’tis true, Mr. +Sharper, for I went every day to coffee-houses to read the +gazette myself.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, +after all I am content to retire; live a private person. +Scipio and others have done it.</p> +<p>SHARP. Impudent rogue. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if +he would put in for’t he might be made general himself +yet.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate +this.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you +ate fire once out of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; +those impenetrable whiskers of his have confronted +flames—</p> +<p>BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he’s so +modest he’ll own nothing.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I +was about. Pray hold your tongue, and give me leave. +[<i>Angrily</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. I am dumb.</p> +<p>BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. +Sharper. This sword I’ll maintain to be the best +divine, anatomist, lawyer, or casuist in Europe; it shall decide +a controversy or split a cause—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by +the Lord Harry, I have seen it.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it’s a lie; you have not seen +it, nor sha’n’t see it; sir, I say you can’t +see; what d’ye say to that now?</p> +<p>SIR JO. I am blind.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted +me—</p> +<p>SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look +that way.</p> +<p>SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph’s penitent.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged +culverin. But ’twas indiscreet, when you know what +will provoke me. Nay, come, Sir Joseph, you know my +heat’s soon over.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I’m +sorry.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Enough.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Come, we’ll go take a glass to drown +animosities. Mr. Sharper, will you partake?</p> +<p>SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you +are Sir Joseph’s back.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span class="smcap">Betty</span> +<i>waiting</i>, <i>in Araminta’s apartment</i>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, +no more. O Gad! I swear you’d make one sick to +hear you.</p> +<p>ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus?</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in +commendation of that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature +man. You don’t know what you’ve said; your +fever has transported you.</p> +<p>ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven +avert the cure. Let me have oil to feed that flame, and +never let it be extinct till I myself am ashes.</p> +<p>BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your +horrid fancy. This love is the devil, and, sure, to be in +love is to be possessed. ’Tis in the head, the heart, +the blood, the—all over. O Gad, you are quite +spoiled. I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your +sake.</p> +<p>ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of +Bellmour’s company would change the scene.</p> +<p>BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin—</p> +<p>ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don’t +perceive you love him.</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, +love a man!</p> +<p>ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast.</p> +<p>BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass—which is so like +your Vainlove. Lard, I have seen an ass look so chagrin, +ha, ha, ha (you must pardon me, I can’t help laughing), +that an absolute lover would have concluded the poor creature to +have had darts, and flames, and altars, and all that in his +breast. Araminta, come, I’ll talk seriously to you +now; could you but see with my eyes the buffoonery of one scene +of address, a lover, set out with all his equipage and +appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would—But you play the +game, and consequently can’t see the miscarriages obvious +to every stander by.</p> +<p>ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and +Bellmour meet. You don’t know that you dreamt of +Bellmour last night, and called him aloud in your sleep.</p> +<p>BELIN. Pish, I can’t help dreaming of the devil +sometimes; would you from thence infer I love him?</p> +<p>ARAM. But that’s not all; you caught me in your +arms when you named him, and pressed me to your bosom. +Sure, if I had not pinched you until you waked, you had stifled +me with kisses.</p> +<p>BELIN. O barbarous aspersion!</p> +<p>ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I +can tell you more.</p> +<p>BELIN. I deny it all.</p> +<p>ARAM. What, before you hear it?</p> +<p>BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. +Lard, cousin, you talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my +Sol, I’m afraid you’ll follow evil courses.</p> +<p>ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant.</p> +<p>BELIN. You may laugh, but—</p> +<p>ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. +The devil take Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him?</p> +<p>ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am +sure you love him. I tell nobody else, cousin. I have +not betrayed you yet.</p> +<p>BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it’s +false.</p> +<p>ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends.</p> +<p>BELIN. Pish.</p> +<p>ARAM. Prithee don’t be so peevish.</p> +<p>BELIN. Prithee don’t be so impertinent. +Betty!</p> +<p>ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam?</p> +<p>BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call +a chair.</p> +<p>ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, +cousin.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Footman</span>.</p> +<p>FOOT. Madam, there are—</p> +<p>BELIN. Is there a chair?</p> +<p>FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove +to wait upon your ladyship.</p> +<p>ARAM. Are they below?</p> +<p>FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were +at home.</p> +<p>BELIN. The visit’s to you, cousin; I suppose I am +at my liberty.</p> +<p>ARAM. Be ready to show ’em up.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Betty</span>, <i>with +Hoods and Looking-glass</i>.</p> +<p>I can’t tell, cousin; I believe we are equally +concerned. But if you continue your humour, it won’t +be very entertaining. (I know she’d fain be persuaded +to stay.) [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full +and free enjoyment of that conversation you admire.</p> +<p>BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look +wretchedly to-day!</p> +<p>ARAM. Betty, why don’t you help my cousin? +[<i>Putting on her hoods</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair +with a high roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, +you Mrs. Fidget—you are so ready to go to the +footman. Here, take ’em all again, my mind’s +changed; I won’t go.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>.</p> +<p>ARAM. So, this I expected. You won’t oblige +me, then, cousin, and let me have all the company to myself?</p> +<p>BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to +trust you to yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; +and in this favourable disposition of your mind, heaven knows how +far you may be tempted: I am tender of your reputation.</p> +<p>ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who’s +malicious now, Belinda?</p> +<p>BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure +affection.</p> +<p>ARAM. In my conscience I believe you.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Footman</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both +within, ladies, is—</p> +<p>ARAM. No miracle, I hope.</p> +<p>BELL. Not o’ your side, madam, I confess. +But my tyrant there and I, are two buckets that can never come +together.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and +clash.</p> +<p>BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But +this it is to run so extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such +a world of love in your service, that you think you can never be +able to pay me all. So shun me for the same reason that you +would a dun.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent +and troublesome of duns—a dun for money will be quiet, when +he sees his debtor has not wherewithal. But a dun for love +is an eternal torment that never rests—</p> +<p>BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, +and then gets it for his pains. For importunity in love, +like importunity at Court, first creates its own interest and +then pursues it for the favour.</p> +<p>ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, +are like discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, +for his ease, sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing +of.</p> +<p>VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be +due rewards to indefatigable devotion. For as love is a +deity, he must be served by prayer.</p> +<p>BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, +and let us alone.</p> +<p>VAIN. You are the temples of love, and ’tis +through you, our devotion must be conveyed.</p> +<p>ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which +upon the least displeasure you forsake and set up new. +Every man now changes his mistress and his religion as his humour +varies, or his interest.</p> +<p>VAIN. O madam—</p> +<p>ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then +we are in great danger of being dull. If my music-master be +not gone, I’ll entertain you with a new song, which comes +pretty near my own opinion of love and your sex. +Who’s there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? +[<i>Calls</i>.]</p> +<p>FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I’ll +call him.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, you won’t hear me with patience.</p> +<p>ARAM. What’s the matter, cousin?</p> +<p>BELL. Nothing, madam, only—</p> +<p>BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so +pestered me with flames and stuff, I think I sha’n’t +endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth.</p> +<p>BELL. Yet all can’t melt that cruel frozen +heart.</p> +<p>BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy—you said +that once before—if you must talk impertinently, for +Heaven’s sake let it be with variety; don’t come +always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. I’ll not +hear a sentence more, that begins with an ‘I +burn’—or an ‘I beseech you, madam.’</p> +<p>BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am +very tractable.</p> +<p>BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence.</p> +<p>BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the +talk to yourself. You had better let me speak; for if my +thoughts fly to any pitch, I shall make villainous signs.</p> +<p>BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as +I won’t understand?</p> +<p>BELL. Ay, but if I’m tongue-tied, I must have all +my actions free to—quicken your apprehension—and +I—gad let me tell you, my most prevailing argument is +expressed in dumb show.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Music-Master</span>.</p> +<p>ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the +discourse. Pray oblige us with the last new song.</p> +<p>SONG.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Thus to a ripe, consenting maid,<br /> +Poor, old, repenting Delia said,<br /> +Would you long preserve your lover?<br /> +Would you still his goddess reign?<br /> +Never let him all discover,<br /> +Never let him much obtain.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Men will admire, adore and die,<br /> +While wishing at your feet they lie:<br /> +But admitting their embraces,<br /> +Wakes ’em from the golden dream;<br /> +Nothing’s new besides our faces,<br /> +Every woman is the same.</p> +<p>ARAM. So, how de’e like the song, gentlemen?</p> +<p>BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don’t much +admire the words.</p> +<p>ARAM. I expected it; there’s too much truth in +’em. If Mr. Gavot will walk with us in the garden, +we’ll have it once again; you may like it better at second +hearing. You’ll bring my cousin.</p> +<p>BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but +I’ll make signs. [<i>Addresses Belinda in dumb +show</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous +than your talking impertinence, as an ape is a much more +troublesome animal than a parrot.</p> +<p>ARAM. Ay, cousin, and ’tis a sign the creatures +mimic nature well; for there are few men but do more silly things +than they say.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for +my speech, and set it at liberty—though, I confess, I could +be well enough pleased to drive on a love-bargain in that silent +manner—’twould save a man a world of lying and +swearing at the year’s end. Besides, I have had a +little experience, that brings to mind—</p> +<p>When wit and reason both have failed to move;<br /> +Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove,<br /> +Ev’n silence may be eloquent in love.</p> +<h2>ACT III.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Silvia</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>SILV. Will he not come, then?</p> +<p>LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in +and be ready to receive him.</p> +<p>SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you?</p> +<p>LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell.</p> +<p>SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove.</p> +<p>LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own +maiden-head as his love. Therefore, e’en set your +heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity mind your own +business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait’s +worn off the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly +yesterday, and no doubt will be eager enough to-day to swallow +the temptation.</p> +<p>SILV. Well, since there’s no remedy—yet tell +me—for I would know, though to the anguish of my soul, how +did he refuse? Tell me, how did he receive my +letter—in anger or in scorn?</p> +<p>LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned +senseless indifference. By this light I could have spit in +his face. Receive it! Why, he received it as I would +one of your lovers that should come empty-handed; as a court lord +does his mercer’s bill or a begging dedication—he +received it as if ’t had been a letter from his wife.</p> +<p>SILV. What! did he not read it?</p> +<p>LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he +would take time to peruse it—but then he was in haste.</p> +<p>SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He’s gone, +and Araminta has bewitched him from me. Oh, how the name of +rival fires my blood. I could curse ’em both; eternal +jealousy attend her love, and disappointment meet his. Oh +that I could revenge the torment he has caused; methinks I feel +the woman strong within me, and vengeance kindles in the room of +love.</p> +<p>LUCY. I have that in my head may make mischief.</p> +<p>SILV. How, dear Lucy?</p> +<p>LUCY. You know Araminta’s dissembled coyness has +won, and keeps him hers—</p> +<p>SILV. Could we persuade him that she loves +another—</p> +<p>LUCY. No, you’re out; could we persuade him that +she dotes on him, himself. Contrive a kind letter as from +her, ’twould disgust his nicety, and take away his +stomach.</p> +<p>SILV. Impossible; ’twill never take.</p> +<p>LUCY. Trouble not your head. Let me alone—I +will inform myself of what passed between ’em to-day, and +about it straight. Hold, I’m mistaken, or +that’s Heartwell, who stands talking at the +corner—’tis he—go get you in, madam, receive +him pleasantly, dress up your face in innocence and smiles, and +dissemble the very want of dissimulation. You know what +will take him.</p> +<p>SILV. ’Tis as hard to counterfeit love as it is to +conceal it: but I’ll do my weak endeavour, though I fear I +have not art.</p> +<p>LUCY. Hang art, madam, and trust to nature for +dissembling.</p> +<p>Man was by nature woman’s cully made:<br /> +We never are but by ourselves betrayed.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>following</i>.</p> +<p>BELL. Hist, hist, is not that Heartwell going to +Silvia?</p> +<p>VAIN. He’s talking to himself, I think; prithee +let’s try if we can hear him.</p> +<p>HEART. Why, whither in the devil’s name am I +agoing now? Hum—let me think—is not this +Silvia’s house, the cave of that enchantress, and which +consequently I ought to shun as I would infection? To enter +here is to put on the envenomed shirt, to run into the embraces +of a fever, and in some raving fit, be led to plunge myself into +that more consuming fire, a woman’s arms. Ha! well +recollected, I will recover my reason, and be gone.</p> +<p>BELL. Now Venus forbid!</p> +<p>VAIN. Hush—</p> +<p>HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your +office—not one inch; no, fore Gad I’m caught. +There stands my north, and thither my needle points. Now +could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O thou delicious, +damned, dear, destructive woman! S’death, how the +young fellows will hoot me! I shall be the jest of the +town: nay, in two days I expect to be chronicled in ditty, and +sung in woful ballad, to the tune of the Superannuated +Maiden’s Comfort, or the Bachelor’s Fall; and upon +the third, I shall be hanged in effigy, pasted up for the +exemplary ornament of necessary houses and cobblers’ +stalls. Death, I can’t think +on’t—I’ll run into the danger to lose the +apprehension.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, +ha, poor George, thou art i’ th’ right, thou hast +sold thyself to laughter; the ill-natured town will find the jest +just where thou hast lost it. Ha, ha, how a’ +struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees.</p> +<p>VAIN. Or a young wench between pleasure and +reputation.</p> +<p>BELL. Or as you did to-day, when half afraid you +snatched a kiss from Araminta.</p> +<p>VAIN. She has made a quarrel on’t.</p> +<p>BELL. Pauh, women are only angry at such offences to +have the pleasure of forgiving them.</p> +<p>VAIN. And I love to have the pleasure of making my +peace. I should not esteem a pardon if too easily won.</p> +<p>BELL. Thou dost not know what thou wouldst be at; +whether thou wouldst have her angry or pleased. Couldst +thou be content to marry Araminta?</p> +<p>VAIN. Could you be content to go to heaven?</p> +<p>BELL. Hum, not immediately, in my conscience not +heartily. I’d do a little more good in my generation +first, in order to deserve it.</p> +<p>VAIN. Nor I to marry Araminta till I merit her.</p> +<p>BELL. But how the devil dost thou expect to get her if +she never yield?</p> +<p>VAIN. That’s true; but I would—</p> +<p>BELL. Marry her without her consent; thou ’rt a +riddle beyond woman—</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>Trusty Setter, what tidings? How goes the project?</p> +<p>SETTER. As all lewd projects do, sir, where the devil +prevents our endeavours with success.</p> +<p>BELL. A good hearing, Setter.</p> +<p>VAIN. Well, I’ll leave you with your engineer.</p> +<p>BELL. And hast thou provided necessaries?</p> +<p>SETTER. All, all, sir; the large sanctified hat, and the +little precise band, with a swinging long spiritual cloak, to +cover carnal knavery—not forgetting the black patch, which +Tribulation Spintext wears, as I’m informed, upon one eye, +as a penal mourning for the ogling offences of his youth; and +some say, with that eye he first discovered the frailty of his +wife.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, in this fanatic father’s habit will I +confess Lætitia.</p> +<p>SETTER. Rather prepare her for confession, sir, by +helping her to sin.</p> +<p>BELL. Be at your master’s lodging in the evening; +I shall use the robes.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Setter</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>SETTER. I shall, sir. I wonder to which of these +two gentlemen I do most properly appertain: the one uses me as +his attendant; the other (being the better acquainted with my +parts) employs me as a pimp; why, that’s much the more +honourable employment—by all means. I follow one as +my master, the other follows me as his conductor.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p>[<i>To him</i>] <span class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>LUCY. There’s the hang-dog, his man—I had a +power over him in the reign of my mistress; but he is too true a +<i>Valet de Chambre</i> not to affect his master’s faults, +and consequently is revolted from his allegiance.</p> +<p>SETTER. Undoubtedly ’tis impossible to be a pimp +and not a man of parts. That is without being politic, +diligent, secret, wary, and so forth—and to all this +valiant as Hercules—that is, passively valiant and actively +obedient. Ah, Setter, what a treasure is here lost for want +of being known.</p> +<p>LUCY. Here’s some villainy afoot; he’s so +thoughtful. May be I may discover something in my +mask. Worthy sir, a word with you. [<i>Puts on her +mask</i>.]</p> +<p>SETTER. Why, if I were known, I might come to be a great +man—</p> +<p>LUCY. Not to interrupt your meditation—</p> +<p>SETTER. And I should not be the first that has procured +his greatness by pimping.</p> +<p>LUCY. Now poverty and the pox light upon thee for a +contemplative pimp.</p> +<p>SETTER. Ha! what art who thus maliciously hast awakened +me from my dream of glory? Speak, thou vile +disturber—</p> +<p>LUCY. Of thy most vile cogitations—thou poor, +conceited wretch, how wert thou valuing thyself upon thy +master’s employment? For he’s the head pimp to +Mr. Bellmour.</p> +<p>SETTER. Good words, damsel, or I shall—But how +dost thou know my master or me?</p> +<p>LUCY. Yes; I know both master and man to be—</p> +<p>SETTER. To be men, perhaps; nay, faith, like enough: I +often march in the rear of my master, and enter the breaches +which he has made.</p> +<p>LUCY. Ay, the breach of faith, which he has begun: thou +traitor to thy lawful princess.</p> +<p>SETTER. Why, how now! prithee who art? Lay by that +worldly face and produce your natural vizor.</p> +<p>LUCY. No, sirrah, I’ll keep it on to abuse thee +and leave thee without hopes of revenge.</p> +<p>SETTER. Oh! I begin to smoke ye: thou art some +forsaken Abigail we have dallied with heretofore—and art +come to tickle thy imagination with remembrance of iniquity +past.</p> +<p>LUCY. No thou pitiful flatterer of thy master’s +imperfections; thou maukin made up of the shreds and parings of +his superfluous fopperies.</p> +<p>SETTER. Thou art thy mistress’s foul self, +composed of her sullied iniquities and clothing.</p> +<p>LUCY. Hang thee, beggar’s cur, thy master is but a +mumper in love, lies canting at the gate; but never dares presume +to enter the house.</p> +<p>SETTER. Thou art the wicket to thy mistress’s +gate, to be opened for all comers. In fine thou art the +highroad to thy mistress.</p> +<p>LUCY. Beast, filthy toad, I can hold no longer, look and +tremble. [<i>Unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SETTER. How, Mrs. Lucy!</p> +<p>LUCY. I wonder thou hast the impudence to look me in the +face.</p> +<p>SETTER. Adsbud, who’s in fault, mistress of mine? +who flung the first stone? who undervalued my function? and who +the devil could know you by instinct?</p> +<p>LUCY. You could know my office by instinct, and be +hanged, which you have slandered most abominably. It vexes +me not what you said of my person; but that my innocent calling +should be exposed and scandalised—I cannot bear it.</p> +<p>SETTER. Nay, faith, Lucy, I’m sorry, I’ll +own myself to blame, though we were both in fault as to our +offices—come, I’ll make you any reparation.</p> +<p>LUCY. Swear.</p> +<p>SETTER. I do swear to the utmost of my power.</p> +<p>LUCY. To be brief, then; what is the reason your master +did not appear to-day according to the summons I brought him?</p> +<p>SETTER. To answer you as briefly—he has a cause to +be tried in another court.</p> +<p>LUCY. Come, tell me in plain terms, how forward he is +with Araminta.</p> +<p>SETTER. Too forward to be turned back—though +he’s a little in disgrace at present about a kiss which he +forced. You and I can kiss, Lucy, without all that.</p> +<p>LUCY. Stand off—he’s a precious jewel.</p> +<p>SETTER. And therefore you’d have him to set in +your lady’s locket.</p> +<p>LUCY. Where is he now?</p> +<p>SETTER. He’ll be in the Piazza presently.</p> +<p>LUCY. Remember to-day’s behaviour. Let me +see you with a penitent face.</p> +<p>SETTER. What, no token of amity, Lucy? You and I +don’t use to part with dry lips.</p> +<p>LUCY. No, no, avaunt—I’ll not be slabbered +and kissed now—I’m not i’ th’ humour.</p> +<p>SETTER. I’ll not quit you so. I’ll +follow and put you into the humour.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir Joseph Wittoll</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>BLUFF. And so, out of your unwonted +generosity—</p> +<p>SIR JO. And good-nature, Back; I am good-natured and I +can’t help it.</p> +<p>BLUFF. You have given him a note upon Fondlewife for a +hundred pound.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, ay, poor fellow; he ventured fair +for’t.</p> +<p>BLUFF. You have disobliged me in it—for I have +occasion for the money, and if you would look me in the face +again and live, go, and force him to redeliver you the +note. Go, and bring it me hither. I’ll stay +here for you.</p> +<p>SIR JO. You may stay until the day of judgment, then, by +the Lord Harry. I know better things than to be run through +the guts for a hundred pounds. Why, I gave that hundred +pound for being saved, and de’e think, an there were no +danger, I’ll be so ungrateful to take it from the gentleman +again?</p> +<p>BLUFF. Well, go to him from me—tell him, I say, he +must refund—or Bilbo’s the world, and slaughter will +ensue. If he refuse, tell him—but whisper +that—tell him—I’ll pink his soul. But +whisper that softly to him.</p> +<p>SIR JO. So softly that he shall never hear on’t, I +warrant you. Why, what a devil’s the matter, Bully; +are you mad? or de’e think I’m mad? Agad, for +my part, I don’t love to be the messenger of ill news; +’tis an ungrateful office—so tell him yourself.</p> +<p>BLUFF. By these hilts I believe he frightened you into +this composition: I believe you gave it him out of fear, pure, +paltry fear—confess.</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, no, hang’t; I was not afraid +neither—though I confess he did in a manner snap me +up—yet I can’t say that it was altogether out of +fear, but partly to prevent mischief—for he was a devilish +choleric fellow. And if my choler had been up too, agad, +there would have been mischief done, that’s flat. And +yet I believe if you had been by, I would as soon have let him +a’ had a hundred of my teeth. Adsheart, if he should +come just now when I’m angry, I’d tell +him—Mum.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Thou ’rt a lucky rogue; there’s your +benefactor; you ought to return him thanks now you have received +the favour.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir Joseph! Your note was accepted, and the +money paid at sight. I’m come to return my +thanks—</p> +<p>SIR JO. They won’t be accepted so readily as the +bill, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. I doubt the knight repents, Tom. He looks +like the knight of the sorrowful face.</p> +<p>SHARP. This is a double generosity: do me a kindness and +refuse my thanks. But I hope you are not offended that I +offered them.</p> +<p>SIR JO. May be I am, sir, may be I am not, sir, may be I +am both, sir; what then? I hope I may be offended without +any offence to you, sir.</p> +<p>SHARP. Hey day! Captain, what’s the +matter? You can tell.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Mr. Sharper, the matter is plain: Sir Joseph has +found out your trick, and does not care to be put upon, being a +man of honour.</p> +<p>SHARP. Trick, sir?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, trick, sir, and won’t be put upon, +sir, being a man of honour, sir, and so, sir—</p> +<p>SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In +consideration of some favours lately received, I would not have +you draw yourself into a <i>premunire</i>, by trusting to that +sign of a man there—that pot-gun charged with wind.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify +yourself—I’ll give him the lie if you’ll stand +to it.</p> +<p>SHARP. Nay, then, I’ll be beforehand with you, +take that, oaf. [<i>Cuffs him</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won’t +you pink his soul?</p> +<p>BLUFF. Husht, ’tis not so convenient now—I +shall find a time.</p> +<p>SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? +You were the incendiary. There’s to put you in mind +of your time.—A memorandum. [<i>Kicks him</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use +on’t.</p> +<p>SHARP. I—Gad and so I will: there’s again +for you. [<i>Kicks him</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a +place to thank you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen +again?</p> +<p>SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be +felt—as for example. [<i>Kicks him</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; ’tis +scandalous to kick this puppy unless a man were cold and had no +other way to get himself aheat.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Very well—very fine—but ’tis no +matter. Is not this fine, Sir Joseph?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very +indifferent. I’d rather go plain all my life than +wear such finery.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Death and hell to be affronted thus! +I’ll die before I’ll suffer it. +[<i>Draws</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. +Nay, dear Captain, don’t be in passion now he’s +gone. Put up, put up, dear Back, ’tis your Sir Joseph +begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up.</p> +<p>BLUFF. By heaven, ’tis not to be put up.</p> +<p>SIR JO. What, Bully?</p> +<p>BLUFF. The affront.</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, aged, no more ’tis, for that’s +put up all already; thy sword, I mean.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty—But were +not you, my friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked? +[<i>Putting up his sword</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, ’tis +past.</p> +<p>BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, ’tis +false—he sucks not vital air who dares affirm it to this +face. [<i>Looks big</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, +I grant you—not to that face, by the Lord Harry. If +you had put on your fighting face before, you had done his +business—he durst as soon have kissed you, as kicked you to +your face. But a man can no more help what’s done +behind his back than what’s said—Come, we’ll +think no more of what’s past.</p> +<p>BLUFF. I’ll call a council of war within to +consider of my revenge to come.</p> +<h3>SCENE X.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Silvia</span>. <i>Silvia’s +apartment</i>.</p> +<p>SONG.</p> +<p>As Amoret and Thyrsis lay<br /> +Melting the hours in gentle play,<br /> +Joining faces, mingling kisses,<br /> +And exchanging harmless blisses:<br /> +He trembling cried, with eager haste,<br /> +O let me feed as well as taste,<br /> +I die, if I’m not wholly blest.</p> +<p>[<i>After the song a dance of antics</i>.]</p> +<p>SILV. Indeed it is very fine. I could look upon +’em all day.</p> +<p>HEART. Well has this prevailed for me, and will you look +upon me?</p> +<p>SILV. If you could sing and dance so, I should love to +look upon you too.</p> +<p>HEART. Why, ’twas I sung and danced; I gave music +to the voice, and life to their measures. Look you here, +Silvia, [<i>pulling out a purse and chinking it</i>] here are +songs and dances, poetry and music—hark! how sweetly one +guinea rhymes to another—and how they dance to the music of +their own chink. This buys all t’other—and this +thou shalt have; this, and all that I am worth, for the purchase +of thy love. Say, is it mine then, ha? Speak, +Syren—Oons, why do I look on her! Yet I must. +Speak, dear angel, devil, saint, witch; do not rack me with +suspense.</p> +<p>SILV. Nay, don’t stare at me so. You make me +blush—I cannot look.</p> +<p>HEART. O manhood, where art thou? What am I come +to? A woman’s toy, at these years! Death, a +bearded baby for a girl to dandle. O dotage, dotage! +That ever that noble passion, lust, should ebb to this +degree. No reflux of vigorous blood: but milky love +supplies the empty channels; and prompts me to the softness of a +child—a mere infant and would suck. Can you love me, +Silvia? Speak.</p> +<p>SILV. I dare not speak until I believe you, and indeed +I’m afraid to believe you yet.</p> +<p>HEART. Death, how her innocence torments and pleases +me! Lying, child, is indeed the art of love, and men are +generally masters in it: but I’m so newly entered, you +cannot distrust me of any skill in the treacherous mystery. +Now, by my soul, I cannot lie, though it were to serve a friend +or gain a mistress.</p> +<p>SILV. Must you lie, then, if you say you love me?</p> +<p>HEART. No, no, dear ignorance, thou beauteous +changeling—I tell thee I do love thee, and tell it for a +truth, a naked truth, which I’m ashamed to discover.</p> +<p>SILV. But love, they say, is a tender thing, that will +smooth frowns, and make calm an angry face; will soften a rugged +temper, and make ill-humoured people good. You look ready +to fright one, and talk as if your passion were not love, but +anger.</p> +<p>HEART. ’Tis both; for I am angry with myself when +I am pleased with you. And a pox upon me for loving thee so +well—yet I must on. ’Tis a bearded arrow, and +will more easily be thrust forward than drawn back.</p> +<p>SILV. Indeed, if I were well assured you loved; but how +can I be well assured?</p> +<p>HEART. Take the symptoms—and ask all the tyrants +of thy sex if their fools are not known by this party-coloured +livery. I am melancholic when thou art absent; look like an +ass when thou art present; wake for thee when I should sleep; and +even dream of thee when I am awake; sigh much, drink little, eat +less, court solitude, am grown very entertaining to myself, and +(as I am informed) very troublesome to everybody else. If +this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable. +Nay, yet a more certain sign than all this, I give thee my +money.</p> +<p>SILV. Ay, but that is no sign; for they say, gentlemen +will give money to any naughty woman to come to bed to +them. O Gemini, I hope you don’t mean so—for I +won’t be a whore.</p> +<p>HEART. The more is the pity. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SILV. Nay, if you would marry me, you should not come to +bed to me—you have such a beard, and would so prickle +one. But do you intend to marry me?</p> +<p>HEART. That a fool should ask such a malicious +question! Death, I shall be drawn in before I know where I +am. However, I find I am pretty sure of her consent, if I +am put to it. [<i>Aside</i>.] Marry you? No, +no, I’ll love you.</p> +<p>SILV. Nay, but if you love me, you must marry me. +What, don’t I know my father loved my mother and was +married to her?</p> +<p>HEART. Ay, ay, in old days people married where they +loved; but that fashion is changed, child.</p> +<p>SILV. Never tell me that; I know it is not changed by +myself: for I love you, and would marry you.</p> +<p>HEART. I’ll have my beard shaved, it +sha’n’t hurt thee, and we’ll go to +bed—</p> +<p>SILV. No, no, I’m not such a fool neither, but I +can keep myself honest. Here, I won’t keep anything +that’s yours; I hate you now, [<i>throws the purse</i>] and +I’ll never see you again, ’cause you’d have me +be naught. [<i>Going</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. Damn her, let her go, and a good riddance. +Yet so much tenderness and beauty and honesty together is a +jewel. Stay, Silvia—But then to marry; why, every man +plays the fool once in his life. But to marry is playing +the fool all one’s life long.</p> +<p>SILV. What did you call me for?</p> +<p>HEART. I’ll give thee all I have, and thou shalt +live with me in everything so like my wife, the world shall +believe it. Nay, thou shalt think so thyself—only let +me not think so.</p> +<p>SILV. No, I’ll die before I’ll be your +whore—as well as I love you.</p> +<p>HEART. [<i>Aside</i>.] A woman, and ignorant, may +be honest, when ’tis out of obstinacy and +contradiction. But, s’death, it is but a may be, and +upon scurvy terms. Well, farewell then—if I can get +out of sight I may get the better of myself.</p> +<p>SILV. Well—good-bye. [<i>Turns and +weeps</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. Ha! Nay, come, we’ll kiss at +parting. [<i>Kisses her</i>.] By heaven, her kiss is +sweeter than liberty. I will marry thee. There, thou +hast done’t. All my resolves melted in that +kiss—one more.</p> +<p>SILV. But when?</p> +<p>HEART. I’m impatient until it be done; I will not +give myself liberty to think, lest I should cool. I will +about a licence straight—in the evening expect me. +One kiss more to confirm me mad; so.</p> +<p>SILV. Ha, ha, ha, an old fox trapped—</p> +<h3>SCENE XI.</h3> +<p>[<i>To her</i>] <span class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>Bless me! you frighted me; I thought he had been come again, +and had heard me.</p> +<p>LUCY. Lord, madam, I met your lover in as much haste as +if he had been going for a midwife.</p> +<p>SILV. He’s going for a parson, girl, the +forerunner of a midwife, some nine months hence. Well, I +find dissembling to our sex is as natural as swimming to a negro; +we may depend upon our skill to save us at a plunge, though till +then, we never make the experiment. But how hast thou +succeeded?</p> +<p>LUCY. As you would wish—since there is no +reclaiming Vainlove. I have found out a pique she has taken +at him, and have framed a letter that makes her sue for +reconciliation first. I know that will do—walk in and +I’ll show it you. Come, madam, you’re like to +have a happy time on’t; both your love and anger +satisfied! All that can charm our sex conspire to please +you.</p> +<p>That woman sure enjoys a blessed night,<br /> +Whom love and vengeance both at once delight.</p> +<h2>ACT IV.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <i>in fanatic habit</i>, +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. ’Tis pretty near the hour. [<i>Looking +on his watch</i>.] Well, and how, Setter, hae, does my +hypocrisy fit me, hae? Does it sit easy on me?</p> +<p>SET. Oh, most religiously well, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. I wonder why all our young fellows should glory in +an opinion of atheism, when they may be so much more conveniently +lewd under the coverlet of religion.</p> +<p>SET. S’bud, sir, away quickly: there’s +Fondlewife just turned the corner, and ’s coming this +way.</p> +<p>BELL. Gad’s so, there he is: he must not see +me.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, <span +class="smcap">Barnaby</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. I say I will tarry at home.</p> +<p>BAR. But, sir.</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack! I profess the spirit of +contradiction hath possessed the lad—I say I will tarry at +home, varlet.</p> +<p>BAR. I have done, sir; then farewell five hundred +pound.</p> +<p>FOND. Ha, how’s that? Stay, stay, did you +leave word, say you, with his wife? With Comfort +herself?</p> +<p>BAR. I did; and Comfort will send Tribulation hither as +soon as ever he comes home. I could have brought young Mr. +Prig to have kept my mistress company in the meantime. But +you say—</p> +<p>FOND. How, how, say, varlet! I say let him not +come near my doors. I say, he is a wanton young Levite, and +pampereth himself up with dainties, that he may look lovely in +the eyes of women. Sincerely, I am afraid he hath already +defiled the tabernacle of our sister Comfort; while her good +husband is deluded by his godly appearance. I say that even +lust doth sparkle in his eyes and glow upon his cheeks, and that +I would as soon trust my wife with a lord’s high-fed +chaplain.</p> +<p>BAR. Sir, the hour draws nigh, and nothing will be done +here until you come.</p> +<p>FOND. And nothing can be done here until I go; so that +I’ll tarry, de’e see.</p> +<p>BAR. And run the hazard to lose your affair, sir!</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack, good lack—I profess it is a very +sufficient vexation for a man to have a handsome wife.</p> +<p>BAR. Never, sir, but when the man is an insufficient +husband. ’Tis then, indeed, like the vanity of taking +a fine house, and yet be forced to let lodgings to help pay the +rent.</p> +<p>FOND. I profess a very apt comparison, varlet. Go +and bid my Cocky come out to me; I will give her some +instructions, I will reason with her before I go.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>And in the meantime I will reason with myself. Tell me, +Isaac, why art thee jealous? Why art thee distrustful of +the wife of thy bosom? Because she is young and vigorous, +and I am old and impotent. Then why didst thee marry, +Isaac? Because she was beautiful and tempting, and because +I was obstinate and doting; so that my inclination was (and is +still) greater than my power. And will not that which +tempted thee, also tempt others, who will tempt her, Isaac? +I fear it much. But does not thy wife love thee, nay, dote +upon thee? Yes. Why then! Ay, but to say truth, +she’s fonder of me than she has reason to be; and in the +way of trade, we still suspect the smoothest dealers of the +deepest designs. And that she has some designs deeper than +thou canst reach, thou hast experimented, Isaac. But, +mum.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>.</p> +<p>LÆT. I hope my dearest jewel is not going to leave +me—are you, Nykin?</p> +<p>FOND. Wife—have you thoroughly considered how +detestable, how heinous, and how crying a sin the sin of adultery +is? Have you weighed it, I say? For it is a very +weighty sin; and although it may lie heavy upon thee, yet thy +husband must also bear his part. For thy iniquity will fall +upon his head.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bless me, what means my dear?</p> +<p>FOND. [<i>Aside</i>.] I profess she has an +alluring eye; I am doubtful whether I shall trust her, even with +Tribulation himself. Speak, I say, have you considered what +it is to cuckold your husband?</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] I’m amazed. +Sure he has discovered nothing. Who has wronged me to my +dearest? I hope my jewel does not think that ever I had any +such thing in my head, or ever will have.</p> +<p>FOND. No, no, I tell you I shall have it in my +head—</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] I know not what to +think. But I’m resolved to find the meaning of +it. Unkind dear! Was it for this you sent to call +me? Is it not affliction enough that you are to leave me, +but you must study to increase it by unjust suspicions? +[<i>Crying</i>.] Well—well—you know my +fondness, and you love to tyrannise—Go on, cruel man, do: +triumph over my poor heart while it holds, which cannot be long, +with this usage of yours. But that’s what you +want. Well, you will have your ends soon. You +will—you will. Yes, it will break to oblige +you. [<i>Sighs</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Verily, I fear I have carried the jest too +far. Nay, look you now if she does not +weep—’tis the fondest fool. Nay, Cocky, Cocky, +nay, dear Cocky, don’t cry, I was but in jest, I was not, +ifeck.</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] Oh then, all’s +safe. I was terribly frighted. My affliction is +always your jest, barbarous man! Oh, that I should love to +this degree! Yet—</p> +<p>FOND. Nay, Cocky.</p> +<p>LÆT. No, no, you are weary of me, that’s +it—that’s all, you would get another +wife—another fond fool, to break her heart—Well, be +as cruel as you can to me, I’ll pray for you; and when I am +dead with grief, may you have one that will love you as well as I +have done: I shall be contented to lie at peace in my cold +grave—since it will please you. [<i>Sighs</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of +oak—I profess I can hold no longer. Nay, dear +Cocky—ifeck, you’ll break my heart—ifeck you +will. See, you have made me weep—made poor Nykin +weep. Nay, come kiss, buss poor Nykin—and I +won’t leave thee—I’ll lose all first.</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] How! Heaven +forbid! that will be carrying the jest too far indeed.</p> +<p>FOND. Won’t you kiss Nykin?</p> +<p>LÆT. Go, naughty Nykin, you don’t love +me.</p> +<p>FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do.</p> +<p>LÆT. No, you don’t. [<i>She kisses +him</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. What, not love Cocky!</p> +<p>LÆT. No-h. [<i>Sighs</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred +pound—and so thou shalt say, for I’ll leave it to +stay with thee.</p> +<p>LÆT. No you sha’n’t neglect your +business for me. No, indeed, you sha’n’t, +Nykin. If you don’t go, I’ll think you been +dealous of me still.</p> +<p>FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I +will go, I won’t be dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, +kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here will be the good man anon, to +talk to Cocky and teach her how a wife ought to behave +herself.</p> +<p>LÆT. [<i>Aside</i>.] I hope to have one that +will show me how a husband ought to behave himself. I shall +be glad to learn, to please my jewel. [<i>Kiss</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. That’s my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin +once more, and then get you in. So—get you in, get +you in. Bye, bye.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bye, Nykin.</p> +<p>FOND. Bye, Cocky.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bye, Nykin.</p> +<p>FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. How! Araminta lost!</p> +<p>VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. +[<i>Gives a letter</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. [<i>Reads</i>.] Hum, hum! And what +then appeared a fault, upon reflection seems only an effect of a +too powerful passion. I’m afraid I give too great a +proof of my own at this time. I am in disorder for what I +have written. But something, I know not what, forced +me. I only beg a favourable censure of this and your +ARAMINTA.</p> +<p>SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy +wits. Here, here, she’s thy own, man, signed and +sealed too. To her, man—a delicious melon, pure and +consenting ripe, and only waits thy cutting up: she has been +breeding love to thee all this while, and just now she’s +delivered of it.</p> +<p>VAIN. ’Tis an untimely fruit, and she has +miscarried of her love.</p> +<p>SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, +Frank? Thou hast a sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love +and cannot digest it.</p> +<p>VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be +crammed. By heaven, there’s not a woman will give a +man the pleasure of a chase: my sport is always balked or cut +short. I stumble over the game I would pursue. +’Tis dull and unnatural to have a hare run full in the +hounds’ mouth, and would distaste the keenest hunter. +I would have overtaken, not have met, my game.</p> +<p>SHARP. However, I hope you don’t mean to forsake +it; that will be but a kind of mongrel cur’s trick. +Well, are you for the Mall?</p> +<p>VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I +will go too, and she shall see her error in—</p> +<p>SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be +so great a brute as to slight her.</p> +<p>VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her +management I should think she expects it.</p> +<p>All naturally fly what does pursue:<br /> +’Tis fit men should be coy when women woo.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p><i>A Room in Fondlewife’s House</i>.</p> +<p>A <span class="smcap">Servant</span> <i>introducing</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <i>in fanatic habit</i>, <i>with a +patch upon one eye and a book in his hand</i>.</p> +<p>SERV. Here’s a chair, sir, if you please to repose +yourself. My mistress is coming, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion +and even dared discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and +trusty Scarron’s novels my prayer-book; methinks I am the +very picture of Montufar in the Hypocrites. Oh! she +comes.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lætitia</span>.</p> +<p>So breaks Aurora through the veil of night,<br /> +Thus fly the clouds, divided by her light,<br /> +And every eye receives a new-born sight.<br /> +[<i>Throwing off his cloak</i>, <i>patch</i>, <i>etc.</i>]</p> +<p>LÆT. Thus strewed with blushes, +like—Ah! Heaven defend me! Who’s +this? [<i>Discovering him</i>, <i>starts</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Your lover.</p> +<p>LÆT. Vainlove’s friend! I know his +face, and he has betrayed me to him. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. You are surprised. Did you not expect a +lover, madam? Those eyes shone kindly on my first +appearance, though now they are o’ercast.</p> +<p>LÆT. I may well be surprised at your person and +impudence: they are both new to me. You are not what your +first appearance promised: the piety of your habit was welcome, +but not the hypocrisy.</p> +<p>BELL. Rather the hypocrisy was welcome, but not the +hypocrite.</p> +<p>LÆT. Who are you, sir? You have mistaken the +house sure.</p> +<p>BELL. I have directions in my pocket which agree with +everything but your unkindness. [<i>Pulls out the +letter</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. My letter! Base Vainlove! Then +’tis too late to dissemble. [<i>Aside</i>.] +’Tis plain, then, you have mistaken the person. +[<i>Going</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. If we part so I’m mistaken. Hold, +hold, madam! I confess I have run into an error. I +beg your pardon a thousand times. What an eternal blockhead +am I! Can you forgive me the disorder I have put you +into? But it is a mistake which anybody might have +made.</p> +<p>LÆT. What can this mean? ’Tis +impossible he should be mistaken after all this. A handsome +fellow if he had not surprised me. Methinks, now I look on +him again, I would not have him mistaken. +[<i>Aside</i>.] We are all liable to mistakes, sir. +If you own it to be so, there needs no farther apology.</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, faith, madam, ’tis a pleasant one, and +worth your hearing. Expecting a friend last night, at his +lodgings, till ’twas late, my intimacy with him gave me the +freedom of his bed. He not coming home all night, a letter +was delivered to me by a servant in the morning. Upon the +perusal I found the contents so charming that I could think of +nothing all day but putting ’em in practice, until just +now, the first time I ever looked upon the superscription, I am +the most surprised in the world to find it directed to Mr. +Vainlove. Gad, madam, I ask you a million of pardons, and +will make you any satisfaction.</p> +<p>LÆT. I am discovered. And either Vainlove is +not guilty, or he has handsomely excused him. +[<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. You appear concerned, madam.</p> +<p>LÆT. I hope you are a gentleman;—and since +you are privy to a weak woman’s failing, won’t turn +it to the prejudice of her reputation. You look as if you +had more honour—</p> +<p>BELL. And more love, or my face is a false witness and +deserves to be pilloried. No, by heaven, I swear—</p> +<p>LÆT. Nay, don’t swear if you’d have me +believe you; but promise—</p> +<p>BELL. Well, I promise. A promise is so cold: give +me leave to swear, by those eyes, those killing eyes, by those +healing lips. Oh! press the soft charm close to mine, and +seal ’em up for ever.</p> +<p>LÆT. Upon that condition. [<i>He kisses +her</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Eternity was in that moment. One more, upon +any condition!</p> +<p>LÆT. Nay, now—I never saw anything so +agreeably impudent. [<i>Aside</i>.] Won’t you +censure me for this, now?—but ’tis to buy your +silence. [<i>Kiss</i>.] Oh, but what am I doing!</p> +<p>BELL. Doing! No tongue can express it—not +thy own, nor anything, but thy lips. I am faint with the +excess of bliss. Oh, for love-sake, lead me anywhither, +where I may lie down —quickly, for I’m afraid I shall +have a fit.</p> +<p>LÆT. Bless me! What fit?</p> +<p>BELL. Oh, a convulsion—I feel the symptoms.</p> +<p>LÆT. Does it hold you long? I’m afraid +to carry you into my chamber.</p> +<p>BELL. Oh, no: let me lie down upon the bed; the fit will +be soon over.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>St. James’s Park</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span> <i>meeting</i>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Lard, my dear, I am glad I have met you; I have +been at the Exchange since, and am so tired—</p> +<p>ARAM. Why, what’s the matter?</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh the most inhuman, barbarous +hackney-coach! I am jolted to a jelly. Am I not +horribly touzed? [<i>Pulls out a pocket-glass</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. Your head’s a little out of order.</p> +<p>BELIN. A little! O frightful! What a furious +phiz I have! O most rueful! Ha, ha, ha. O Gad, +I hope nobody will come this way, till I have put myself a little +in repair. Ah! my dear, I have seen such unhewn creatures +since. Ha, ha, ha. I can’t for my soul help +thinking that I look just like one of ’em. Good dear, +pin this, and I’ll tell you—very well—so, thank +you, my dear—but as I was telling you—pish, this is +the untowardest lock—so, as I was telling you—how +d’ye like me now? Hideous, ha? Frightful +still? Or how?</p> +<p>ARAM. No, no; you’re very well as can be.</p> +<p>BELIN. And so—but where did I leave off, my +dear? I was telling you—</p> +<p>ARAM. You were about to tell me something, child, but +you left off before you began.</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh; a most comical sight: a country squire, with +the equipage of a wife and two daughters, came to Mrs. +Snipwel’s shop while I was there—but oh Gad! two such +unlicked cubs!</p> +<p>ARAM. I warrant, plump, cherry-cheeked country +girls.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ay, o’ my conscience, fat as barn-door +fowl: but so bedecked, you would have taken ’em for +Friesland hens, with their feathers growing the wrong way. +O such outlandish creatures! Such Tramontanæ, and +foreigners to the fashion, or anything in practice! I had +not patience to behold. I undertook the modelling of one of +their fronts, the more modern structure—</p> +<p>ARAM. Bless me, cousin; why would you affront anybody +so? They might be gentlewomen of a very good +family—</p> +<p>BELIN. Of a very ancient one, I dare swear, by their +dress. Affront! pshaw, how you’re mistaken! The +poor creature, I warrant, was as full of curtsies, as if I had +been her godmother. The truth on’t is, I did +endeavour to make her look like a Christian—and she was +sensible of it, for she thanked me, and gave me two apples, +piping hot, out of her under-petticoat pocket. Ha, ha, ha: +and t’other did so stare and gape, I fancied her like the +front of her father’s hall; her eyes were the two +jut-windows, and her mouth the great door, most hospitably kept +open for the entertainment of travelling flies.</p> +<p>ARAM. So then, you have been diverted. What did +they buy?</p> +<p>BELIN. Why, the father bought a powder-horn, and an +almanac, and a comb-case; the mother, a great fruz-towr, and a +fat amber necklace; the daughters only tore two pairs of +kid-leather gloves, with trying ’em on. O Gad, here +comes the fool that dined at my Lady Freelove’s +t’other day.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>ARAM. May be he may not know us again.</p> +<p>BELIN. We’ll put on our masks to secure his +ignorance. [<i>They put on their masks</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, Gad, I’ll pick up; I’m resolved +to make a night on’t. I’ll go to Alderman +Fondlewife by and by, and get fifty pieces more from him. +Adslidikins, bully, we’ll wallow in wine and women. +Why, this same Madeira wine has made me as light as a +grasshopper. Hist, hist, bully, dost thou see those +tearers? [<i>Sings</i>.] Look you what here +is—look you what here +is—toll—loll—dera—toll—loll—agad, +t’other glass of Madeira, and I durst have attacked +’em in my own proper person, without your help.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Come on then, knight. But do you know what +to say to them?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Say: pooh, pox, I’ve enough to +say—never fear it—that is, if I can but think +on’t: truth is, I have but a treacherous memory.</p> +<p>BELIN. O frightful! cousin, what shall we do? +These things come towards us.</p> +<p>ARAM. No matter. I see Vainlove coming this +way—and, to confess my failing, I am willing to give him an +opportunity of making his peace with me—and to rid me of +these coxcombs, when I seem opprest with ’em, will be a +fair one.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Ladies, by these hilts you are well met.</p> +<p>ARAM. We are afraid not.</p> +<p>BLUFF. What says my pretty little knapsack +carrier. [<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. O monstrous filthy fellow! good slovenly Captain +Huffe, Bluffe (what is your hideous name?) be gone: you stink of +brandy and tobacco, most soldier-like. Foh. +[<i>Spits</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Now am I slap-dash down in the mouth, and have +not one word to say! [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. I hope my fool has not confidence enough to be +troublesome. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Hem! Pray, madam, which way is the +wind?</p> +<p>ARAM. A pithy question. Have you sent your wits +for a venture, sir, that you enquire?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, now I’m in, I can prattle like a +magpie. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE X.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Sharper</span> <i>and</i> +<span class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>at some distance</i>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Dear Araminta, I’m tired.</p> +<p>ARAM. ’Tis but pulling off our masks, and obliging +Vainlove to know us. I’ll be rid of my fool by fair +means.—Well, Sir Joseph, you shall see my face; but, be +gone immediately. I see one that will be jealous, to find +me in discourse with you. Be discreet. No reply; but +away. [<i>Unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. The great fortune, that dined at my Lady +Freelove’s! Sir Joseph, thou art a made man. +Agad, I’m in love up to the ears. But I’ll be +discreet, and hushed. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Nay, by the world, I’ll see your face.</p> +<p>BELIN. You shall. [<i>Unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. Ladies, your humble servant. We were afraid +you would not have given us leave to know you.</p> +<p>ARAM. We thought to have been private. But we find +fools have the same advantage over a face in a mask that a coward +has while the sword is in the scabbard, so were forced to draw in +our own defence.</p> +<p>BLUFF. My blood rises at that fellow: I can’t stay +where he is; and I must not draw in the park. [<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. I wish I durst stay to let her know my +lodging.</p> +<h3>SCENE XI.</h3> +<p>ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, SHARPER.</p> +<p>SHARP. There is in true beauty, as in courage, somewhat +which narrow souls cannot dare to admire. And see, the owls +are fled, as at the break of day.</p> +<p>BELIN. Very courtly. I believe Mr. Vainlove has +not rubbed his eyes since break of day neither, he looks as if he +durst not approach. Nay, come, cousin, be friends with +him. I swear he looks so very simply—ha, ha, +ha. Well, a lover in the state of separation from his +mistress is like a body without a soul. Mr. Vainlove, shall +I be bound for your good behaviour for the future?</p> +<p>VAIN. Now must I pretend ignorance equal to hers, of +what she knows as well as I. [<i>Aside</i>.] Men are +apt to offend (’tis true) where they find most goodness to +forgive. But, madam, I hope I shall prove of a temper not +to abuse mercy by committing new offences.</p> +<p>ARAM. So cold! [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. I have broke the ice for you, Mr. Vainlove, and +so I leave you. Come, Mr. Sharper, you and I will take a +turn, and laugh at the vulgar—both the great vulgar and the +small. O Gad! I have a great passion for +Cowley. Don’t you admire him?</p> +<p>SHARP. Oh, madam! he was our English Horace.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ah so fine! so extremely fine! So +everything in the world that I like—O Lord, walk this +way—I see a couple; I’ll give you their history.</p> +<h3>SCENE XII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>.</p> +<p>VAIN. I find, madam, the formality of the law must be +observed, though the penalty of it be dispensed with, and an +offender must plead to his arraignment, though he has his pardon +in his pocket.</p> +<p>ARAM. I’m amazed! This insolence exceeds +t’other; whoever has encouraged you to this assurance, +presuming upon the easiness of my temper, has much deceived you, +and so you shall find.</p> +<p>VAIN. Hey day! Which way now? Here’s +fine doubling. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. Base man! Was it not enough to affront me +with your saucy passion?</p> +<p>VAIN. You have given that passion a much kinder epithet +than saucy, in another place.</p> +<p>ARAM. Another place! Some villainous design to +blast my honour. But though thou hadst all the treachery +and malice of thy sex, thou canst not lay a blemish on my +fame. No, I have not erred in one favourable thought of +mankind. How time might have deceived me in you, I know +not; my opinion was but young, and your early baseness has +prevented its growing to a wrong belief. Unworthy and +ungrateful! be gone, and never see me more.</p> +<p>VAIN. Did I dream? or do I dream? Shall I believe +my eyes, or ears? The vision is here still. Your +passion, madam, will admit of no farther reasoning; but +here’s a silent witness of your acquaintance. +[<i>Takes our the letter</i>, <i>and offers it</i>: <i>she +snatches it</i>, <i>and throws it away</i>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. There’s poison in everything you +touch. Blisters will follow—</p> +<p>VAIN. That tongue, which denies what the hands have +done.</p> +<p>ARAM. Still mystically senseless and impudent; I find I +must leave the place.</p> +<p>VAIN. No, madam, I’m gone. She knows her +name’s to it, which she will be unwilling to expose to the +censure of the first finder.</p> +<p>ARAM. Woman’s obstinacy made me blind to what +woman’s curiosity now tempts me to see. [<i>Takes up +the letter</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE XIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nay, we have spared nobody, I swear. Mr. +Sharper, you’re a pure man; where did you get this +excellent talent of railing?</p> +<p>SHARP. Faith, madam, the talent was born with +me:—I confess I have taken care to improve it, to qualify +me for the society of ladies.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nay, sure, railing is the best qualification in a +woman’s man.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIV.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Footman</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. The second best, indeed, I think.</p> +<p>BELIN. How now, Pace? Where’s my cousin?</p> +<p>FOOT. She’s not very well, madam, and has sent to +know if your ladyship would have the coach come again for +you?</p> +<p>BELIN. O Lord, no, I’ll go along with her. +Come, Mr. Sharper.</p> +<h3>SCENE XV.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>A chamber in Fondlewife’s house</i>.</p> +<p>LÆTITIA and BELLMOUR, his cloak, hat, etc., lying loose +about the chamber.</p> +<p>BELL. Here’s nobody, nor no +noise—’twas nothing but your fears.</p> +<p>LÆT. I durst have sworn I had heard my +monster’s voice. I swear I was heartily frightened; +feel how my heart beats.</p> +<p>BELL. ’Tis an alarm to love—come in again, +and let us—</p> +<p>FOND. [<i>Without</i>.] Cocky, Cocky, where are +you, Cocky? I’m come home.</p> +<p>LÆT. Ah! There he is. Make haste, +gather up your things.</p> +<p>FOND. Cocky, Cocky, open the door.</p> +<p>BELL. Pox choke him, would his horns were in his +throat. My patch, my patch. [<i>Looking about</i>, +<i>and gathering up his things</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. My jewel, art thou there?—No matter for +your patch.—You s’an’t tum in, Nykin—run +into my chamber, quickly, quickly—You s’an’t +tum in.</p> +<p>FOND. Nay, prithee, dear, i’feck I’m in +haste.</p> +<p>LÆT. Then I’ll let you in. [<i>Opens +the door</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE XVI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. Kiss, dear—I met the master of the ship by +the way, and I must have my papers of accounts out of your +cabinet.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh, I’m undone! +[<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Pray, first let me have fifty pound, good +Alderman, for I’m in haste.</p> +<p>FOND. A hundred has already been paid by your +order. Fifty? I have the sum ready in gold in my +closet.</p> +<h3>SCENE XVII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Agad, it’s a curious, fine, pretty rogue; +I’ll speak to her.—Pray, Madam, what news d’ye +hear?</p> +<p>LÆT. Sir, I seldom stir abroad. [<i>Walks +about in disorder</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. I wonder at that, Madam, for ’tis most +curious fine weather.</p> +<p>LÆT. Methinks ’t has been very ill +weather.</p> +<p>SIR JO. As you say, madam, ’tis pretty bad +weather, and has been so a great while.</p> +<h3>SCENE XVIII.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. Here are fifty pieces in this purse, Sir Joseph; +if you will tarry a moment, till I fetch my papers, I’ll +wait upon you down-stairs.</p> +<p>LÆT. Ruined, past redemption! what shall I +do—ha! this fool may be of use. (Aside.) +[<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>is going into +the chamber</i>, <i>she runs to</i> <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>, <i>almost pushes him down</i>, <i>and cries +out</i>.] Stand off, rude ruffian. Help me, my +dear. O bless me! Why will you leave me alone with +such a Satyr?</p> +<p>FOND. Bless us! What’s the matter? +What’s the matter?</p> +<p>LÆT. Your back was no sooner turned, but like a +lion he came open mouthed upon me, and would have ravished a kiss +from me by main force.</p> +<p>SIR JO. O Lord! Oh, terrible! Ha, ha, +ha. Is your wife mad, Alderman?</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! I’m sick with the fright; +won’t you take him out of my sight?</p> +<p>FOND. O traitor! I’m astonished. O +bloody-minded traitor!</p> +<p>SIR JO. Hey-day! Traitor yourself. By the +Lord Harry, I was in most danger of being ravished, if you go to +that.</p> +<p>FOND. Oh, how the blasphemous wretch swears! Out +of my house, thou son of the whore of Babylon; offspring of Bel +and the Dragon.—Bless us! ravish my wife! my Dinah! +Oh, Shechemite! Begone, I say.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Why, the devil’s in the people, I +think.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lætitia</span>, <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span>.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! won’t you follow, and see him out +of doors, my dear?</p> +<p>FOND. I’ll shut this door to secure him from +coming back—Give me the key of your cabinet, Cocky. +Ravish my wife before my face? I warrant he’s a +Papist in his heart at least, if not a Frenchman.</p> +<p>LÆT. What can I do now! (Aside.) Oh! +my dear, I have been in such a fright, that I forgot to tell you, +poor Mr. Spintext has a sad fit of the colic, and is forced to +lie down upon our bed—you’ll disturb him; I can tread +softlier.</p> +<p>FOND. Alack, poor man—no, no—you don’t +know the papers—I won’t disturb him; give me the +key. [<i>She gives him the key</i>, <i>goes to the chamber +door and speaks aloud</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. ’Tis nobody but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. +Spintext, lie still on your stomach; lying on your stomach will +ease you of the colic.</p> +<p>FOND. Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don’t let me +disturb you.</p> +<h3>SCENE XX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lætitia</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p>LÆT. Sure, when he does not see his face, he +won’t discover him. Dear fortune, help me but this +once, and I’ll never run in thy debt again. But this +opportunity is the Devil.</p> +<h3>SCENE XXI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>returns with +Papers</i>.</p> +<p>FOND. Good lack! good lack! I profess the poor man +is in great torment; he lies as flat—Dear, you should heat +a trencher, or a napkin.—Where’s Deborah? Let +her clap some warm thing to his stomach, or chafe it with a warm +hand rather than fail. What book’s this? +[<i>Sees the book that</i> <span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> +<i>forgot</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. Mr. Spintext’s prayer-book, dear. +Pray Heaven it be a prayer-book. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Good man! I warrant he dropped it on purpose +that you might take it up and read some of the pious +ejaculations. [<i>Taking up the book</i>.] O bless +me! O monstrous! A prayer-book? Ay, this is the +devil’s paternoster. Hold, let me see: The Innocent +Adultery.</p> +<p>LÆT. Misfortune! now all’s ruined +again. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. [<i>Peeping</i>]. Damned chance! If I +had gone a-whoring with the Practice of Piety in my pocket I had +never been discovered.</p> +<p>FOND. Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! +Here’s doctrine! Ay, here’s discipline!</p> +<p>LÆT. Dear husband, I’m amazed. Sure it +is a good book, and only tends to the speculation of sin.</p> +<p>FOND. Speculation! No no; something went farther +than speculation when I was not to be let in.—Where is this +apocryphal elder? I’ll ferret him.</p> +<p>LÆT. I’m so distracted, I can’t think +of a lie. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<h3>SCENE XXII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Lætitia</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife</span> <i>haling out</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.</p> +<p>FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, +how now! Who have we here?</p> +<p>LÆT. Ha! [<i>Shrieks as surprised</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then +brutified? Ay, I feel it here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, +I am ripe-horn-mad. But who in the devil’s name are +you? Mercy on me for swearing. But—</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are +you? What are you?</p> +<p>BELL. Soh!</p> +<p>LÆT. In the name of the—O! Good, my +dear, don’t come near it; I’m afraid ’tis the +devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear.</p> +<p>FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, +no, I am afraid ’tis the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, +with the pox. Come Syren, speak, confess, who is this +reverend, brawny pastor.</p> +<p>LÆT. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I +never saw this wicked man before.</p> +<p>FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems.</p> +<p>LÆT. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of +a sheep.</p> +<p>FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper +clothing—woman’s flesh. What, you know nothing +of him, but his fleece here! You don’t love mutton? +you Magdalen unconverted.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.—That is, very +honourably to excuse her, and very impudently accuse +myself. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the +heaven of your embraces again, my dear, if ever I saw his face +before.</p> +<p>FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration +of your impudence. Look at him a little better; he is more +modest, I warrant you, than to deny it. Come, were you two +never face to face before? Speak.</p> +<p>BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think +myself obliged to speak the truth in justice to your +wife.—No.</p> +<p>FOND. Humph.</p> +<p>LÆT. No, indeed, dear.</p> +<p>FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must +confess. But, what—not to be cured of the +colic? Don’t you know your patient, Mrs. Quack? +Oh, ‘lie upon your stomach; lying upon your stomach will +cure you of the colic.’ Ah! answer me, Jezebel?</p> +<p>LÆT. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does +he think I have nothing to do but excuse him? ’tis enough +if I can clear my own innocence to my own dear.</p> +<p>BELL. By my troth, and so ’tis. I have been +a little too backward; that’s the truth on’t.</p> +<p>FOND. Come, sir, who are you, in the first place? +And what are you?</p> +<p>BELL. A whore-master.</p> +<p>FOND. Very concise.</p> +<p>LÆT. O beastly, impudent creature.</p> +<p>FOND. Well, sir, and what came you hither for?</p> +<p>BELL. To lie with your wife.</p> +<p>FOND. Good again. A very civil person this, and I +believe speaks truth.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh, insupportable impudence.</p> +<p>FOND. Well, sir; pray be covered—and you +have—Heh! You have finished the matter, heh? +And I am, as I should be, a sort of civil perquisite to a +whore-master, called a cuckold, heh? Is it not so? +Come, I’m inclining to believe every word you say.</p> +<p>BELL. Why, faith, I must confess, so I designed you; but +you were a little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindered the +making of your own fortune.</p> +<p>FOND. Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once and +go back of your word you are not the person I took you for. +Come, come, go on boldly.—What, don’t be ashamed of +your profession.—Confess, confess; I shall love thee the +better for’t. I shall, i’feck. What, dost +think I don’t know how to behave myself in the employment +of a cuckold, and have been three years apprentice to +matrimony? Come, come; plain dealing is a jewel.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, since I see thou art a good, honest fellow, +I’ll confess the whole matter to thee.</p> +<p>FOND. Oh, I am a very honest fellow. You never lay +with an honester man’s wife in your life.</p> +<p>LÆT. How my heart aches! All my comfort lies +in his impudence, and heaven be praised, he has a considerable +portion. [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. In short, then, I was informed of the opportunity +of your absence by my spy (for faith, honest Isaac, I have a long +time designed thee this favour). I knew Spintext was to +come by your direction. But I laid a trap for him, and +procured his habit, in which I passed upon your servants, and was +conducted hither. I pretended a fit of the colic, to excuse +my lying down upon your bed; hoping that when she heard of it, +her good nature would bring her to administer remedies for my +distemper. You know what might have followed. But, +like an uncivil person, you knocked at the door before your wife +was come to me.</p> +<p>FOND. Ha! This is apocryphal; I may choose whether +I will believe it or no.</p> +<p>BELL. That you may, faith, and I hope you won’t +believe a word on’t—but I can’t help telling +the truth, for my life.</p> +<p>FOND. How! would not you have me believe you, say +you?</p> +<p>BELL. No; for then you must of consequence part with +your wife, and there will be some hopes of having her upon the +public; then the encouragement of a separate +maintenance—</p> +<p>FOND. No, no; for that matter, when she and I part, +she’ll carry her separate maintenance about her.</p> +<p>LÆT. Ah, cruel dear, how can you be so +barbarous? You’ll break my heart, if you talk of +parting. [<i>Cries</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Ah, dissembling vermin!</p> +<p>BELL. How can’st thou be so cruel, Isaac? +Thou hast the heart of a mountain-tiger. By the faith of a +sincere sinner, she’s innocent for me. Go to him, +madam, fling your snowy arms about his stubborn neck; bathe his +relentless face in your salt trickling tears. [<i>She goes +and hangs upon his neck</i>, <i>and kisses him</i>. <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>kisses her hand behind</i> <span +class="smcap">Fondlewife’s</span> <i>back</i>.] So, a +few soft words, and a kiss, and the good man melts. See how +kind nature works, and boils over in him.</p> +<p>LÆT. Indeed, my dear, I was but just come down +stairs, when you knocked at the door; and the maid told me Mr. +Spintext was ill of the colic upon our bed. And won’t +you speak to me, cruel Nykin? Indeed, I’ll die, if +you don’t.</p> +<p>FOND. Ah! No, no, I cannot speak, my heart’s +so full—I have been a tender husband, a tender yoke-fellow; +you know I have.—But thou hast been a faithless Delilah, +and the Philistines—Heh! Art thou not vile and +unclean, heh? Speak. [<i>Weeping</i>.]</p> +<p>LÆT. No-h. [<i>Sighing</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Oh that I could believe thee!</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh, my heart will break. [<i>Seeming to +faint</i>.]</p> +<p>FOND. Heh, how! No, stay, stay, I will believe +thee, I will. Pray bend her forward, sir.</p> +<p>LÆT. Oh! oh! Where is my dear?</p> +<p>FOND. Here, here; I do believe thee. I won’t +believe my own eyes.</p> +<p>BELL. For my part, I am so charmed with the love of your +turtle to you, that I’ll go and solicit matrimony with all +my might and main.</p> +<p>FOND. Well, well, sir; as long as I believe it, +’tis well enough. No thanks to you, sir, for her +virtue.—But, I’ll show you the way out of my house, +if you please. Come, my dear. Nay, I will believe +thee, I do, i’feck.</p> +<p>BELL. See the great blessing of an easy faith; opinion +cannot err.</p> +<blockquote><p>No husband, by his wife, can be deceived;<br /> +She still is virtuous, if she’s so believed.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>ACT V.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>The Street</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span> <i>in fanatic habit</i>, +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>, <span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Setter! Well encountered.</p> +<p>SET. Joy of your return, sir. Have you made a good +voyage? or have you brought your own lading back?</p> +<p>BELL. No, I have brought nothing but ballast +back—made a delicious voyage, Setter; and might have rode +at anchor in the port till this time, but the enemy surprised +us—I would unrig.</p> +<p>SET. I attend you, sir.</p> +<p>BELL. Ha! Is it not that Heartwell at +Sylvia’s door? Be gone quickly, I’ll follow +you—I would not be known. Pox take ’em, they +stand just in my way.</p> +<h3>SCENE II.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>HEART. I’m impatient till it be done.</p> +<p>LUCY. That may be, without troubling yourself to go +again for your brother’s chaplain. Don’t you +see that stalking form of godliness?</p> +<p>HEART. O ay; he’s a fanatic.</p> +<p>LUCY. An executioner qualified to do your +business. He has been lawfully ordained.</p> +<p>HEART. I’ll pay him well, if you’ll break +the matter to him.</p> +<p>LUCY. I warrant you.—Do you go and prepare your +bride.</p> +<h3>SCENE III.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Humph, sits the wind there? What a lucky +rogue am I! Oh, what sport will be here, if I can persuade +this wench to secrecy!</p> +<p>LUCY. Sir: reverend sir.</p> +<p>BELL. Madam. [<i>Discovers himself</i>.]</p> +<p>LUCY. Now, goodness have mercy upon me! Mr. +Bellmour! is it you?</p> +<p>BELL. Even I. What dost think?</p> +<p>LUCY. Think! That I should not believe my eyes, +and that you are not what you seem to be.</p> +<p>BELL. True. But to convince thee who I am, thou +knowest my old token. [<i>Kisses her</i>.]</p> +<p>LUCY. Nay, Mr. Bellmour: O Lard! I believe you are +a parson in good earnest, you kiss so devoutly.</p> +<p>BELL. Well, your business with me, Lucy?</p> +<p>LUCY. I had none, but through mistake.</p> +<p>BELL. Which mistake you must go through with, +Lucy. Come, I know the intrigue between Heartwell and your +mistress; and you mistook me for Tribulation Spintext, to marry +’em—Ha? are not matters in this posture? +Confess: come, I’ll be faithful; I will, +i’faith. What! diffide in me, Lucy?</p> +<p>LUCY. Alas-a-day! You and Mr. Vainlove, between +you, have ruined my poor mistress: you have made a gap in her +reputation; and can you blame her if she make it up with a +husband?</p> +<p>BELL. Well, is it as I say?</p> +<p>LUCY. Well, it is then: but you’ll be secret?</p> +<p>BELL. Phuh, secret, ay. And to be out of thy debt, +I’ll trust thee with another secret. Your mistress +must not marry Heartwell, Lucy.</p> +<p>LUCY. How! O Lord!</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, don’t be in passion, +Lucy:—I’ll provide a fitter husband for her. +Come, here’s earnest of my good intentions for thee too; +let this mollify. [<i>Gives her money</i>.] Look you, +Heartwell is my friend; and though he be blind, I must not see +him fall into the snare, and unwittingly marry a whore.</p> +<p>LUCY. Whore! I’d have you to know my +mistress scorns—</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, nay: look you, Lucy; there are whores of as +good quality. But to the purpose, if you will give me leave +to acquaint you with it. Do you carry on the mistake of me: +I’ll marry ’em. Nay, don’t pause; if you +do, I’ll spoil all. I have some private reasons for +what I do, which I’ll tell you within. In the +meantime, I promise—and rely upon me—to help your +mistress to a husband: nay, and thee too, Lucy. +Here’s my hand, I will; with a fresh assurance. +[<i>Gives her more money</i>.]</p> +<p>LUCY. Ah, the devil is not so cunning. You know my +easy nature. Well, for once I’ll venture to serve +you; but if you do deceive me, the curse of all kind, +tender-hearted women light upon you!</p> +<p>BELL. That’s as much as to say, the pox take +me. Well, lead on.</p> +<h3>SCENE IV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy?</p> +<p>SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you +found me, and overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry +’em.</p> +<p>SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. +I’ll plague Heartwell when I see him. Prithee, Frank, +let’s tease him; make him fret till he foam at the mouth, +and disgorge his matrimonial oath with interest. Come, +thou’rt musty—</p> +<p>SET. [<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Sharper</span>.] Sir, a word with you. +[<i>Whispers him</i>.]</p> +<p>VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the +letter—I’m sure he tells me truth;—but +I’m not sure she told him truth: yet she was unaffectedly +concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and surprise: +and so I remember in the park. She had reason, if I wrong +her. I begin to doubt.</p> +<p>SHARP. Say’st thou so?</p> +<p>SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master +received the letter.</p> +<p>SHARP. In my conscience, like enough.</p> +<p>SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I’m sure I can +fish it out of her: she’s the very sluice to her +lady’s secrets: ’tis but setting her mill agoing, and +I can drain her of ’em all.</p> +<p>SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the +fault: this letter, that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; +only a trick of Sylvia in revenge, contrived by Lucy.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, +sirrah?</p> +<p>SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was +pumping me about how your worship’s affairs stood towards +Madam Araminta; as, when you had seen her last? when you were to +see her next? and, where you were to be found at that time? and +such like.</p> +<p>VAIN. And where did you tell her?</p> +<p>SET. In the Piazza.</p> +<p>VAIN. There I received the letter—it must be +so—and why did you not find me out, to tell me this before, +sot?</p> +<p>SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour.</p> +<p>SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no +objection to the excuse.</p> +<p>VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity—if I have lost +her, I deserve it. But if confession and repentance be of +force, I’ll win her, or weary her into a forgiveness.</p> +<p>SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth.</p> +<h3>SCENE V.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes.</p> +<p>SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous +mischief—no real fanatic can look better pleased after a +successful sermon of sedition.</p> +<p>BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a +jest! Speak when thou art ready.</p> +<p>SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly +disappoint thy mirth: hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much +gravity as a bishop hears venereal causes in the spiritual +court. Not so much as wrinkle my face with one smile; but +let thee look simply, and laugh by thyself.</p> +<p>BELL. Pshaw, no; I have a better opinion of thy +wit. Gad, I defy thee.</p> +<p>SHARP. Were it not loss of time you should make the +experiment. But honest Setter, here, overheard you with +Lucy, and has told me all.</p> +<p>BELL. Nay, then, I thank thee for not putting me out of +countenance. But, to tell you something you don’t +know. I got an opportunity after I had married ’em, +of discovering the cheat to Sylvia. She took it at first, +as another woman would the like disappointment; but my promise to +make her amends quickly with another husband somewhat pacified +her.</p> +<p>SHARP. But how the devil do you think to acquit yourself +of your promise? Will you marry her yourself?</p> +<p>BELL. I have no such intentions at present. +Prithee, wilt thou think a little for me? I am sure the +ingenious Mr. Setter will assist.</p> +<p>SET. O Lord, sir!</p> +<p>BELL. I’ll leave him with you, and go shift my +habit.</p> +<h3>SCENE VI.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>, and <span class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Heh! Sure fortune has sent this fool hither +on purpose. Setter, stand close; seem not to observe +’em; and, hark ye. [<i>Whispers</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Fear him not. I am prepared for him now, +and he shall find he might have safer roused a sleeping lion.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Hush, hush! don’t you see him?</p> +<p>BLUFF. Show him to me. Where is he?</p> +<p>SIR JO. Nay, don’t speak so loud. I +don’t jest as I did a little while ago. Look +yonder! Agad, if he should hear the lion roar, he’d +cudgel him into an ass, and his primitive braying. +Don’t you remember the story in Æsop’s Fables, +bully? Agad, there are good morals to be picked out of +Æsop’s Fables, let me tell you that, and Reynard the +Fox too.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Damn your morals.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Prithee, don’t speak so loud.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Damn your morals; I must revenge the affront done +to my honour. [<i>In a low voice</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay; do, do, captain, if you think fitting. +You may dispose of your own flesh as you think fitting, +d’ye see, but, by the Lord Harry, I’ll leave +you. [<i>Stealing away upon his tip-toes</i>.]</p> +<p>BLUFF. Prodigious! What, will you forsake your +friend in extremity? You can’t in honour refuse to +carry him a challenge. [<i>Almost whispering</i>, <i>and +treading softly after him</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Prithee, what do you see in my face that looks +as if I would carry a challenge? Honour is your province, +captain; take it. All the world know me to be a knight, and +a man of worship.</p> +<p>SET. I warrant you, sir, I’m instructed.</p> +<p>SHARP. Impossible! Araminta take a liking to a +fool? [<i>Aloud</i>.]</p> +<p>SET. Her head runs on nothing else, nor she can talk of +nothing else.</p> +<p>SHARP. I know she commanded him all the while we were in +the Park; but I thought it had been only to make Vainlove +jealous.</p> +<p>SIR JO. How’s this! Good bully, hold your +breath and let’s hearken. Agad, this must be I.</p> +<p>SHARP. Death, it can’t be. An oaf, an idiot, +a wittal.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, now it’s out; ’tis I, my own +individual person.</p> +<p>SHARP. A wretch that has flown for shelter to the lowest +shrub of mankind, and seeks protection from a blasted coward.</p> +<p>SIR JO. That’s you, bully back. [<span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span> <i>frowns upon</i> <span +class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. She has given Vainlove her promise to marry him +before to-morrow morning. Has she not? [<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Setter</span>.]</p> +<p>SET. She has, sir; and I have it in charge to attend her +all this evening, in order to conduct her to the place +appointed.</p> +<p>SHARP. Well, I’ll go and inform your master; and +do you press her to make all the haste imaginable.</p> +<h3>SCENE VII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Setter</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir +Joseph</span>, <span class="smcap">Bluffe</span>.</p> +<p>SET. Were I a rogue now, what a noble prize could I +dispose of! A goodly pinnace, richly laden, and to launch +forth under my auspicious convoy. Twelve thousand pounds +and all her rigging, besides what lies concealed under +hatches. Ha! all this committed to my care! Avaunt, +temptation! Setter, show thyself a person of worth; be true +to thy trust, and be reputed honest. Reputed honest! +Hum: is that all? Ay; for to be honest is nothing; the +reputation of it is all. Reputation! what have such poor +rogues as I to do with reputation? ’tis above us; and for +men of quality, they are above it; so that reputation is even as +foolish a thing as honesty. And, for my part, if I meet Sir +Joseph with a purse of gold in his hand, I’ll dispose of +mine to the best advantage.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Heh, heh, heh: Here ’tis for you, +i’faith, Mr. Setter. Nay, I’ll take you at your +word. [<i>Chinking a purse</i>.]</p> +<p>SET. Sir Joseph and the captain, too! undone! +undone! I’m undone, my master’s undone, my +lady’s undone, and all the business is undone.</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, no; never fear, man; the lady’s +business shall be done. What, come, Mr. Setter, I have +overheard all, and to speak is but loss of time; but if there be +occasion, let these worthy gentlemen intercede for me. +[<i>Gives him gold</i>.]</p> +<p>SET. O lord, sir, what d’ye mean? Corrupt my +honesty? They have indeed very persuading faces. +But—</p> +<p>SIR JO. ’Tis too little, there’s more, +man. There, take all. Now—</p> +<p>SET. Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with +you—</p> +<p>SIR JO. And how, and how, good Setter, did the little +rogue look when she talked of Sir Joseph? Did not her eyes +twinkle and her mouth water? Did not she pull up her little +bubbies? And—agad, I’m so overjoyed—And +stroke down her belly? and then step aside to tie her garter when +she was thinking of her love? Heh, Setter!</p> +<p>SET. Oh, yes, sir.</p> +<p>SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because +I’m in the lady’s favour? No matter, I’ll +make your peace: I know they were a little smart upon you. +But I warrant I’ll bring you into the lady’s good +graces.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Pshaw, I have petitions to show from other-guess +toys than she. Look here; these were sent me this +morning. There, read. [<i>Shows letters</i>]. +That—that’s a scrawl of quality. Here, +here’s from a countess too. Hum—No, +hold—that’s from a knight’s wife—she sent +it me by her husband. But here, both these are from persons +of great quality.</p> +<p>SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, +or no quality at all, ’tis such a damned ugly hand. +[<i>While</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span> <i>reads</i>, +<span class="smcap">Bluffe</span> <i>whispers</i> <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.]</p> +<p>SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this +is so difficult.</p> +<p>BLUFF. Not at all. Don’t I know him?</p> +<p>SET. You’ll remember the conditions?</p> +<p>BLUFF. I’ll give it you under my hand. In +the meantime, here’s earnest. [<i>Gives him +money</i>.] Come, knight, I’m capitulating with Mr. +Setter for you.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I’ll give thee +anything but a night’s lodging.</p> +<h3>SCENE VIII.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sharper</span> <i>tugging in</i> <span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with +me. May be she mayn’t be within. ’Tis but +to yond corner-house.</p> +<p>HEART. Whither? Whither? Which +corner-house.</p> +<p>SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts.</p> +<p>HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? +(O’ons, how my heart aches.)</p> +<p>SHARP. Pshaw, thou’rt so troublesome and +inquisitive. My, I’ll tell you; ’tis a young +creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did you +never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia?</p> +<p>HEART. Death, and hell, and marriage! My +wife! [<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that +had found his wife knowing the first night.</p> +<p>HEART. Hell, and the Devil! Does he know it? +But, hold; if he should not, I were a fool to discover it. +I’ll dissemble, and try him. [<i>Aside</i>.] +Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of +melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief?</p> +<p>SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but +have their year of probation before they are cloistered in the +narrow joys of wedlock. But, prithee, come along with me or +I’ll go and have the lady to myself. +B’w’y George. [<i>Going</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! +Death! Shall I own my shame or wittingly let him go and +whore my wife? No, that’s insupportable. O +Sharper!</p> +<p>SHARP. How now?</p> +<p>HEART. Oh, I am married.</p> +<p>SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married!</p> +<p>HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married.</p> +<p>SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long?</p> +<p>HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married +these two hours.</p> +<p>SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a +jest. Ha, ha, ha.</p> +<p>HEART. Death! D’ye mock me? Hark ye, +if either you esteem my friendship, or your own safety—come +not near that house—that corner-house—that hot +brothel. Ask no questions.</p> +<p>SHARP. Mad, by this light.</p> +<p>Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure:<br /> +Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.</p> +<h3>SCENE IX.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Sharper</span>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>SET. Some by experience find these words misplaced:<br +/> +At leisure married, they repent in haste.</p> +<p>As I suppose my master Heartwell.</p> +<p>SHARP. Here again, my Mercury!</p> +<p>SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my +achievements do deserve the epithet—Mercury was a pimp too, +but, though I blush to own it, at this time, I must confess I am +somewhat fallen from the dignity of my function, and do +condescend to be scandalously employed in the promotion of vulgar +matrimony.</p> +<p>SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp?</p> +<p>SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs +depending—our stratagem succeeded as you +intended—Bluffe turns errant traitor; bribes me to make a +private conveyance of the lady to him, and put a shame-settlement +upon Sir Joseph.</p> +<p>SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope—</p> +<p>SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately +informed the knight of the treachery, who has agreed seemingly to +be cheated, that the captain may be so in reality.</p> +<p>SHARP. Where’s the bride?</p> +<p>SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a +friend’s house of mine. Here’s company coming; +if you’ll walk this way, sir, I’ll tell you.</p> +<h3>SCENE X.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>.</p> +<p>VAIN. Oh, ’twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive +it? Men in madness have a title to your pity. +[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Araminta</span>.]</p> +<p>ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to +their senses.</p> +<p>VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon.</p> +<p>ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, +how insolent would a real pardon make you! But +there’s no need to forgive what is not worth my anger.</p> +<p>BELIN. O’ my conscience, I could find in my heart +to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee—at least thou art +so troublesome a lover, there’s hopes thou’lt make a +more than ordinary quiet husband. [<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye?</p> +<p>BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the <i>mode</i> have +made marriage a mere French dish.</p> +<p>BELL. I hope there’s no French sauce. +[<i>Aside</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, +your courtship, one would think you meant a noble +entertainment—but when we come to feed, ’tis all +froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, +which have been I know not how many times warmed for other +company, and at last served up cold to the wife.</p> +<p>BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not +afford one warm dish for the wife of his bosom. But you +timorous virgins form a dreadful chimæra of a husband, as +of a creature contrary to that soft, humble, pliant, easy thing, +a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in opposition to the +pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage, is but +as the music in the play-house, until the curtain’s drawn; +but that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure.</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, foh,—no: rather courtship to marriage, +as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.</p> +<h3>SCENE XI.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you’ll bring +the ladies, make haste to Sylvia’s lodgings, before +Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath.</p> +<p>BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge +yourself upon Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. +[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Belinda</span>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast.</p> +<p>ARAM. ’Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never +been at our house since.</p> +<p>BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that +corner-house, and I’ll tell you by the way what may divert +and surprise you.</p> +<h3>SCENE XII.</h3> +<p>SCENE: <i>Sylvia’s Lodgings</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Heartwell</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Boy</span>.</p> +<p>HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid?</p> +<p>BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them +out—Setter, I think they called him.</p> +<p>HEART. So-h—that precious pimp too—damned, +damned strumpet! could she not contain herself on her +wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh, cursed state! how +wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life.</p> +<blockquote><p>We hope to find<br /> +That help which Nature meant in womankind,<br /> +To man that supplemental self-designed;<br /> +But proves a burning caustic when applied,<br /> +And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide<br /> +The bone when broken, than when made a bride.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>SCENE XIII.</h3> +<p>[<i>To him</i>] <span class="smcap">Bellmour</span>, <span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>, <span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span>, <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span>.</p> +<p>BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the +chimes of verse were past, when once the doleful marriage-knell +was rung.</p> +<p>HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [<span +class="smcap">Vainlove</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Araminta</span> <i>talk apart</i>.]</p> +<p>BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, +sir.</p> +<p>HEART. ’Tis not in thy nature to give me +joy. A woman can as soon give immortality.</p> +<p>BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when +they are married.</p> +<p>BELL. That they are fit for no company but their +wives.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I +swear, at the month’s end, you shall hardly find a married +man that will do a civil thing to his wife, or say a civil thing +to anybody else. How he looks already, ha, ha, ha.</p> +<p>BELL. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p>HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For +you, sir, I shall find a time; but take off your wasp here, or +the clown may grow boisterous; I have a fly-flap.</p> +<p>BELIN. You have occasion for’t, your wife has been +blown upon.</p> +<p>BELL. That’s home.</p> +<p>HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my +vexation, or anything, but another woman. You’ve +racked my patience; begone, or by—</p> +<p>BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil—thou wilt +not draw upon a woman?</p> +<p>VAIN. What’s the matter?</p> +<p>ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him?</p> +<p>BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced.</p> +<p>VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too +much. ’Tis all serious to him.</p> +<p>BELIN. Nay, I swear, I begin to pity him myself.</p> +<p>HEART. Damn your pity!—but let me be calm a +little. How have I deserved this of you? any of ye? +Sir, have I impaired the honour of your house, promised your +sister marriage, and whored her? Wherein have I injured +you? Did I bring a physician to your father when he lay +expiring, and endeavour to prolong his life, and you one and +twenty? Madam, have I had an opportunity with you and +baulked it? Did you ever offer me the favour that I refused +it? Or—</p> +<p>BELIN. Oh foh! what does the filthy fellow mean? +Lord, let me be gone.</p> +<p>ARAM. Hang me, if I pity you; you are right enough +served.</p> +<p>BELL. This is a little scurrilous though.</p> +<p>VAIN. Nay, ’tis a sore of your own +scratching—well, George?</p> +<p>HEART. You are the principal cause of all my present +ills. If Sylvia had not been your mistress, my wife might +have been honest.</p> +<p>VAIN. And if Sylvia had not been your wife, my mistress +might have been just. There, we are even. But have a +good heart, I heard of your misfortune, and come to your +relief.</p> +<p>HEART. When execution’s over, you offer a +reprieve.</p> +<p>VAIN. What would you give?</p> +<p>HEART. Oh! Anything, everything, a leg or two, or +an arm; nay, I would be divorced from my virility to be divorced +from my wife.</p> +<h3>SCENE XIV.</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Sharper</span>.</p> +<p>VAIN. Faith, that’s a sure way: but here’s +one can sell you freedom better cheap.</p> +<p>SHARP. Vainlove, I have been a kind of a godfather to +you yonder. I have promised and vowed some things in your +name which I think you are bound to perform.</p> +<p>VAIN. No signing to a blank, friend.</p> +<p>SHARP. No, I’ll deal fairly with you. +’Tis a full and free discharge to Sir Joseph Wittal and +Captain Bluffe; for all injuries whatsoever, done unto you by +them, until the present date hereof. How say you?</p> +<p>VAIN. Agreed.</p> +<p>SHARP. Then, let me beg these ladies to wear their +masks, a moment. Come in, gentlemen and ladies.</p> +<p>HEART. What the devil’s all this to me?</p> +<p>VAIN. Patience.</p> +<h3>SCENE the Last</h3> +<p>[<i>To them</i>] <span class="smcap">Sir Joseph</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bluffe</span>, <span class="smcap">Sylvia</span>, +<span class="smcap">Lucy</span>, <span +class="smcap">Setter</span>.</p> +<p>BLUFF. All injuries whatsoever, Mr. Sharper.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ay, ay, whatsoever, Captain, stick to that; +whatsoever.</p> +<p>SHARP. ’Tis done, these gentlemen are witnesses to +the general release.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ay, ay, to this instant moment. I have +passed an act of oblivion.</p> +<p>BLUFF. ’Tis very generous, sir, since I needs must +own—</p> +<p>SIR JO. No, no, Captain, you need not own, heh, heh, +heh. ’Tis I must own—</p> +<p>BLUFF.—That you are over-reached too, ha, ha, ha, only a +little art military used—only undermined, or so, as shall +appear by the fair Araminta, my wife’s permission. +Oh, the devil, cheated at last! [<span +class="smcap">Lucy</span> <i>unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Only a little art-military trick, captain, only +countermined, or so. Mr. Vainlove, I suppose you know whom +I have got—now, but all’s forgiven.</p> +<p>VAIN. I know whom you have not got; pray ladies convince +him. [<span class="smcap">Aram.</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Belin.</span> <i>unmask</i>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Ah! oh Lord, my heart aches. Ah! +Setter, a rogue of all sides.</p> +<p>SHARP. Sir Joseph, you had better have pre-engaged this +gentleman’s pardon: for though Vainlove be so generous to +forgive the loss of his mistress, I know not how Heartwell may +take the loss of his wife. [<span +class="smcap">Sylvia</span> <i>unmasks</i>.]</p> +<p>HEART. My wife! By this light ’tis she, the +very cockatrice. O Sharper! Let me embrace +thee. But art thou sure she is really married to him?</p> +<p>SET. Really and lawfully married, I am witness.</p> +<p>SHARP. Bellmour will unriddle to you. [<span +class="smcap">Heartwell</span> <i>goes to</i> <span +class="smcap">Bellmour</span>.]</p> +<p>SIR JO. Pray, madam, who are you? For I find you +and I are like to be better acquainted.</p> +<p>SYLV. The worst of me is, that I am your wife—</p> +<p>SHARP. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as +you fear. A fine lady, and a lady of very good quality.</p> +<p>SIR JO. Thanks to my knighthood, she’s a +lady—</p> +<p>VAIN. That deserves a fool with a better title. +Pray use her as my relation, or you shall hear on’t.</p> +<p>BLUFF. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse?</p> +<p>SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected +accordingly. Well, honest Lucy, fare thee well. I +think, you and I have been play-fellows off and on, any time this +seven years.</p> +<p>LUCY. Hold your prating. I’m thinking what +vocation I shall follow while my spouse is planting laurels in +the wars.</p> +<p>BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I +plant laurels for my head abroad, I may find the branches sprout +at home.</p> +<p>HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank +thee. And I cannot in gratitude (for I see which way thou +art going) see thee fall into the same snare out of which thou +hast delivered me.</p> +<p>BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but +there is a fatality in marriage, for I find I’m +resolute.</p> +<p>HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon +you. For my part, I have once escaped; and when I wed +again, may she be—ugly, as an old bawd.</p> +<p>VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid—</p> +<p>BELL. Wanton, as a young widow—</p> +<p>SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife.</p> +<p>HEART. Agreed.</p> +<p>BELL. Well; ’midst of these dreadful +denunciations, and notwithstanding the warning and example before +me, I commit myself to lasting durance.</p> +<p>BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. +[<i>Giving her hand</i>.]</p> +<p>BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance?</p> +<p>VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing?</p> +<p>ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of +our friend’s experience first.</p> +<p>BELL. O’ my conscience she dares not consent, for +fear he should recant. [<i>Aside</i>.] Well, we shall +have your company to church in the morning. May be it may +get you an appetite to see us fall to before you. Setter, +did not you tell me?—</p> +<p>SET. They’re at the door: I’ll call +’em in.</p> +<h3>A DANCE.</h3> +<p>BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. +Come take your fellow-travellers. Old George, I’m +sorry to see thee still plod on alone.</p> +<p>HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling bells made +proud,<br /> +The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud.<br /> +A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds,<br /> +And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields.<br /> +But, oh—<br /> +What rugged ways attend the noon of life!<br /> +Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife,<br /> +What pain we tug that galling load, a wife.<br /> +All coursers the first heat with vigour run;<br /> +But ’tis with whip and spur the race is won.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt Omnes</i>.]</p> +<h2>EPILOGUE.<br /> +Spoken by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Barry</span>.</h2> +<p>As a rash girl, who will all hazards run,<br /> +And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone,<br /> +Soon as her curiosity is over,<br /> +Would give the world she could her toy recover,<br /> +So fares it with our poet; and I’m sent<br /> +To tell you he already does repent:<br /> +Would you were all as forward to keep Lent.<br /> +Now the deed’s done, the giddy thing has leisure<br /> +To think o’ th’ sting, that’s in the tail of +pleasure.<br /> +Methinks I hear him in consideration:<br /> +What will the world say? Where’s my reputation?<br /> +Now that’s at stake. No, fool, ’tis out +o’ fashion.<br /> +If loss of that should follow want of wit,<br /> +How many undone men were in the pit!<br /> +Why that’s some comfort to an author’s fears,<br /> +If he’s an ass, he will be tryed by’s peers.<br /> +But hold, I am exceeding my commission:<br /> +My business here was humbly to petition;<br /> +But we’re so used to rail on these occasions,<br /> +I could not help one trial of your patience:<br /> +For ’tis our way, you know, for fear o’ th’ +worst,<br /> +To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first.<br /> +How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected?<br /> +I swear, young Bays within is so dejected,<br /> +’Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him?<br +/> +But then you cruel critics would so maul him!<br /> +Yet may be you’ll encourage a beginner;<br /> +But how? Just as the devil does a sinner.<br /> +Women and wits are used e’en much at one,<br /> +You gain your end, and damn ’em when you’ve done.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1192-h.htm or 1192-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/1/9/1192 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/old/1192-h.zip b/old/1192-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9215df4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1192-h.zip diff --git a/old/1192.txt b/old/1192.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b702a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1192.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4319 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve, Edited +by G. S. Street + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Old Bachelor + + +Author: William Congreve + +Editor: G. S. Street + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [eBook #1192] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR*** + + +Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen and Co. [Comedies of William Congreve] +edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +THE OLD BACHELOR + + + _Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria curru_, + _Exanimat lentus spectator_; _sedulus inflat_: + _Sic leve_, _sic parvum est_, _animum quod laudis avarum_ + _Subruit_, _and reficit_. + + HORAT. _Epist._ I. lib. ii. + + + + +TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD CLIFFORD OF LANESBOROUGH, etc. + + +My Lord,--It is with a great deal of pleasure that I lay hold on this +first occasion which the accidents of my life have given me of writing to +your lordship: for since at the same time I write to all the world, it +will be a means of publishing (what I would have everybody know) the +respect and duty which I owe and pay to you. I have so much inclination +to be yours that I need no other engagement. But the particular ties by +which I am bound to your lordship and family have put it out of my power +to make you any compliment, since all offers of myself will amount to no +more than an honest acknowledgment, and only shew a willingness in me to +be grateful. + +I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to be your +lordship's servant, that it might be more my merit; not that I would +avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my own choice to run me into +the debt: that I might have it to boast, I had distinguished a man to +whom I would be glad to be obliged, even without the hopes of having it +in my power ever to make him a return. + +It is impossible for me to come near your lordship in any kind and not to +receive some favour; and while in appearance I am only making an +acknowledgment (with the usual underhand dealing of the world) I am at +the same time insinuating my own interest. I cannot give your lordship +your due, without tacking a bill of my own privileges. 'Tis true, if a +man never committed a folly, he would never stand in need of a +protection. But then power would have nothing to do, and good nature no +occasion to show itself; and where those qualities are, 'tis pity they +should want objects to shine upon. I must confess this is no reason why +a man should do an idle thing, nor indeed any good excuse for it when +done; yet it reconciles the uses of such authority and goodness to the +necessities of our follies, and is a sort of poetical logic, which at +this time I would make use of, to argue your lordship into a protection +of this play. It is the first offence I have committed in this kind, or +indeed, in any kind of poetry, though not the first made public, and +therefore I hope will the more easily be pardoned. But had it been +acted, when it was first written, more might have been said in its +behalf: ignorance of the town and stage would then have been excuses in a +young writer, which now almost four years' experience will scarce allow +of. Yet I must declare myself sensible of the good nature of the town, +in receiving this play so kindly, with all its faults, which I must own +were, for the most part, very industriously covered by the care of the +players; for I think scarce a character but received all the advantage it +would admit of from the justness of the action. + +As for the critics, my lord, I have nothing to say to, or against, any of +them of any kind: from those who make just exceptions, to those who find +fault in the wrong place. I will only make this general answer in behalf +of my play (an answer which Epictetus advises every man to make for +himself to his censurers), viz.: 'That if they who find some faults in +it, were as intimate with it as I am, they would find a great many more.' +This is a confession, which I needed not to have made; but however, I can +draw this use from it to my own advantage: that I think there are no +faults in it but what I do know; which, as I take it, is the first step +to an amendment. + +Thus I may live in hopes (sometime or other) of making the town amends; +but you, my lord, I never can, though I am ever your lordship's most +obedient and most humble servant, + +WILL. CONGREVE. + + + + +TO MR. CONGREVE. + + +When virtue in pursuit of fame appears, +And forward shoots the growth beyond the years. +We timely court the rising hero's cause, +And on his side the poet wisely draws, +Bespeaking him hereafter by applause. +The days will come, when we shall all receive +Returning interest from what now we give, +Instructed and supported by that praise +And reputation which we strive to raise. +Nature so coy, so hardly to be wooed, +Flies, like a mistress, but to be pursued. +O Congreve! boldly follow on the chase: +She looks behind and wants thy strong embrace: +She yields, she yields, surrenders all her charms, +Do you but force her gently to your arms: +Such nerves, such graces, in your lines appear, +As you were made to be her ravisher. +Dryden has long extended his command, +By right divine, quite through the muses' land, +Absolute lord; and holding now from none, +But great Apollo, his undoubted crown. +That empire settled, and grown old in power +Can wish for nothing but a successor: +Not to enlarge his limits, but maintain +Those provinces, which he alone could gain. +His eldest Wycherly, in wise retreat, +Thought it not worth his quiet to be great. +Loose, wand'ring Etherege, in wild pleasures tost, +And foreign int'rests, to his hopes long lost: +Poor Lee and Otway dead! Congreve appears, +The darling, and last comfort of his years. +May'st thou live long in thy great master's smiles, +And growing under him, adorn these isles. +But when--when part of him (be that but late) +His body yielding must submit to fate, +Leaving his deathless works and thee behind +(The natural successor of his mind), +Then may'st thou finish what he has begun: +Heir to his merit, be in fame his son. +What thou hast done, shews all is in thy pow'r, +And to write better, only must write more. +'Tis something to be willing to commend; +But my best praise is, that I am your friend, + +THO. SOUTHERNE. + + + + +TO MR. CONGREVE. + + +The danger's great in these censorious days, +When critics are so rife to venture praise: +When the infectious and ill-natured brood +Behold, and damn the work, because 'tis good, +And with a proud, ungenerous spirit, try +To pass an ostracism on poetry. +But you, my friend, your worth does safely bear +Above their spleen; you have no cause for fear; +Like a well-mettled hawk, you took your flight +Quite out of reach, and almost out of sight. +As the strong sun, in a fair summer's day, +You rise, and drive the mists and clouds away, +The owls and bats, and all the birds of prey. +Each line of yours, like polished steel's so hard, +In beauty safe, it wants no other guard. +Nature herself's beholden to your dress, +Which though still like, much fairer you express. +Some vainly striving honour to obtain, +Leave to their heirs the traffic of their brain: +Like China under ground, the ripening ware, +In a long time, perhaps grows worth our care. +But you now reap the fame, so well you've sown; +The planter tastes his fruit to ripeness grown. +As a fair orange-tree at once is seen +Big with what's ripe, yet springing still with green, +So at one time, my worthy friend appears, +With all the sap of youth, and weight of years. +Accept my pious love, as forward zeal, +Which though it ruins me I can't conceal: +Exposed to censure for my weak applause, +I'm pleased to suffer in so just a cause; +And though my offering may unworthy prove, +Take, as a friend, the wishes of my love. + +J. MARSH. + + + + +TO MR. CONGREVE, ON HIS PLAY CALLED +THE OLD BACHELOR. + + +Wit, like true gold, refined from all allay, +Immortal is, and never can decay: +'Tis in all times and languages the same, +Nor can an ill translation quench the flame: +For, though the form and fashion don't remain, +The intrinsic value still it will retain. +Then let each studied scene be writ with art, +And judgment sweat to form the laboured part. +Each character be just, and nature seem: +Without th' ingredient, wit, 'tis all but phlegm: +For that's the soul, which all the mass must move, +And wake our passions into grief or love. +But you, too bounteous, sow your wit so thick, +We are surprised, and know not where to pick; +And while with clapping we are just to you, +Ourselves we injure, and lose something new. +What mayn't we then, great youth, of thee presage, +Whose art and wit so much transcend thy age? +How wilt thou shine at thy meridian height, +Who, at thy rising, giv'st so vast a light? +When Dryden dying shall the world deceive, +Whom we immortal, as his works, believe, +Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage, +Adorn and entertain the coming age. + +BEVIL. HIGGONS. + + + + +PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR THE OLD BACHELOR. +Written by the LORD FALKLAND. + + +Most authors on the stage at first appear +Like widows' bridegrooms, full of doubt and fear: +They judge, from the experience of the dame, +How hard a task it is to quench her flame; +And who falls short of furnishing a course +Up to his brawny predecessor's force, +With utmost rage from her embraces thrown, +Remains convicted as an empty drone. +Thus often, to his shame, a pert beginner +Proves in the end a miserable sinner. + As for our youngster, I am apt to doubt him, +With all the vigour of his youth about him; +But he, more sanguine, trusts in one and twenty, +And impudently hopes he shall content you: +For though his bachelor be worn and cold, +He thinks the young may club to help the old, +And what alone can be achieved by neither, +Is often brought about by both together. +The briskest of you all have felt alarms, +Finding the fair one prostitute her charms +With broken sighs, in her old fumbler's arms: +But for our spark, he swears he'll ne'er be jealous +Of any rivals, but young lusty fellows. +Faith, let him try his chance, and if the slave, +After his bragging, prove a washy knave, +May he be banished to some lonely den +And never more have leave to dip his pen. +But if he be the champion he pretends, +Both sexes sure will join to be his friends, +For all agree, where all can have their ends. +And you must own him for a man of might, +If he holds out to please you the third night. + + + + +PROLOGUE. +Spoken by MRS. BRACEGIRDLE. + + +How this vile world is changed! In former days +Prologues were serious speeches before plays, +Grave, solemn things, as graces are to feasts, +Where poets begged a blessing from their guests. +But now no more like suppliants we come; +A play makes war, and prologue is the drum. +Armed with keen satire and with pointed wit, +We threaten you who do for judges sit, +To save our plays, or else we'll damn your pit. +But for your comfort, it falls out to-day, +We've a young author and his first-born play; +So, standing only on his good behaviour, +He's very civil, and entreats your favour. +Not but the man has malice, would he show it, +But on my conscience he's a bashful poet; +You think that strange--no matter, he'll outgrow it. +Well, I'm his advocate: by me he prays you +(I don't know whether I shall speak to please you), +He prays--O bless me! what shall I do now? +Hang me if I know what he prays, or how! +And 'twas the prettiest prologue as he wrote it! +Well, the deuce take me, if I han't forgot it. +O Lord, for heav'n's sake excuse the play, +Because, you know, if it be damned to-day, +I shall be hanged for wanting what to say. +For my sake then--but I'm in such confusion, +I cannot stay to hear your resolution. + +[_Runs off_.] + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +MEN. + + +HEARTWELL, a surly old bachelor, pretending to slight women, secretly in +love with Silvia--Mr. Betterton. +BELLMOUR, in love with Belinda--Mr. Powell +VAINLOVE, capricious in his love; in love with Araminta--Mr. Williams +SHARPER,--Mr. Verbruggen +SIR JOSEPH WITTOL,--Mr. Bowen +CAPTAIN BLUFFE,--Mr. Haines. +FONDLEWIFE, a banker--Mr. Dogget +SETTER, a pimp--Mr Underhill +SERVANT to Fondlewife. + + + +WOMEN. + + +ARAMINTA, in love with Vainlove--Mrs. Bracegirdle +BELINDA, her cousin, an affected lady, in love with Bellmour--Mrs. +Mountfort +LAETITIA, wife to Fondlewife--Mrs. Barry +SYLVIA, Vainlove's forsaken mistress--Mrs. Bowman +LUCY, her maid--Mrs. Leigh +BETTY. +BOY and FOOTMEN. + +SCENE: London. + + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I. + + +SCENE: _The Street_. + +BELLMOUR _and_ VAINLOVE _meeting_. + +BELL. Vainlove, and abroad so early! Good-morrow; I thought a +contemplative lover could no more have parted with his bed in a morning +than he could have slept in't. + +VAIN. Bellmour, good-morrow. Why, truth on't is, these early sallies +are not usual to me; but business, as you see, sir--[_Showing Letters_.] +And business must be followed, or be lost. + +BELL. Business! And so must time, my friend, be close pursued, or lost. +Business is the rub of life, perverts our aim, casts off the bias, and +leaves us wide and short of the intended mark. + +VAIN. Pleasure, I guess you mean. + +BELL. Ay; what else has meaning? + +VAIN. Oh, the wise will tell you-- + +BELL. More than they believe--or understand. + +VAIN. How, how, Ned! A wise man say more than he understands? + +BELL. Ay, ay! Wisdom's nothing but a pretending to know and believe +more than we really do. You read of but one wise man, and all that he +knew was, that he knew nothing. Come, come, leave business to idlers and +wisdom to fools; they have need of 'em. Wit be my faculty, and pleasure +my occupation; and let Father Time shake his glass. Let low and earthly +souls grovel till they have worked themselves six foot deep into a grave. +Business is not my element--I roll in a higher orb, and dwell-- + +VAIN. In castles i' th' air of thy own building. That's thy element, +Ned. Well, as high a flier as you are, I have a lure may make you stoop. +[_Flings a Letter_.] + +BELL. I, marry, sir, I have a hawk's eye at a woman's hand. There's +more elegancy in the false spelling of this superscription [_takes up the +Letter_] than in all Cicero. Let me see.--How now!--Dear _perfidious +Vainlove_. [_Reads_.] + +VAIN. Hold, hold, 'slife, that's the wrong. + +BELL. Nay, let's see the name--Sylvia!--how canst thou be ungrateful to +that creature? She's extremely pretty, and loves thee entirely--I have +heard her breathe such raptures about thee-- + +VAIN. Ay, or anybody that she's about-- + +BELL. No, faith, Frank, you wrong her; she has been just to you. + +VAIN. That's pleasant, by my troth, from thee, who hast had her. + +BELL. Never--her affections. 'Tis true, by heaven: she owned it to my +face; and, blushing like the virgin morn when it disclosed the cheat +which that trusty bawd of nature, night, had hid, confessed her soul was +true to you; though I by treachery had stolen the bliss. + +VAIN. So was true as turtle--in imagination--Ned, ha? Preach this +doctrine to husbands, and the married women will adore thee. + +BELL. Why, faith, I think it will do well enough, if the husband be out +of the way, for the wife to show her fondness and impatience of his +absence by choosing a lover as like him as she can; and what is unlike, +she may help out with her own fancy. + +VAIN. But is it not an abuse to the lover to be made a blind of? + +BELL. As you say, the abuse is to the lover, not the husband. For 'tis +an argument of her great zeal towards him, that she will enjoy him in +effigy. + +VAIN. It must be a very superstitious country where such zeal passes for +true devotion. I doubt it will be damned by all our Protestant husbands +for flat idolatry. But, if you can make Alderman Fondlewife of your +persuasion, this letter will be needless. + +BELL. What! The old banker with the handsome wife? + +VAIN. Ay. + +BELL. Let me see--_Laetitia_! Oh, 'tis a delicious morsel. Dear Frank, +thou art the truest friend in the world. + +VAIN. Ay, am I not? To be continually starting of hares for you to +course. We were certainly cut out for one another; for my temper quits +an amour just where thine takes it up. But read that; it is an +appointment for me, this evening--when Fondlewife will be gone out of +town, to meet the master of a ship, about the return of a venture which +he's in danger of losing. Read, read. + +BELL. [_reads_.] Hum, Hum--Out of town this evening, and talks of +sending for Mr. Spintext to keep me company; but I'll take care he shall +not be at home. Good! Spintext! Oh, the fanatic one-eyed parson! + +VAIN. Ay. + +BELL. [_reads_.] Hum, Hum--That your conversation will be much more +agreeable, if you can counterfeit his habit to blind the servants. Very +good! Then I must be disguised?--With all my heart!--It adds a gusto to +an amour; gives it the greater resemblance of theft; and, among us lewd +mortals, the deeper the sin the sweeter. Frank, I'm amazed at thy good +nature-- + +VAIN. Faith, I hate love when 'tis forced upon a man, as I do wine. And +this business is none of my seeking; I only happened to be, once or +twice, where Laetitia was the handsomest woman in company; so, +consequently, applied myself to her--and it seems she has taken me at my +word. Had you been there, or anybody, 't had been the same. + +BELL. I wish I may succeed as the same. + +VAIN. Never doubt it; for if the spirit of cuckoldom be once raised up +in a woman, the devil can't lay it, until she has done't. + +BELL. Prithee, what sort of fellow is Fondlewife? + +VAIN. A kind of mongrel zealot, sometimes very precise and peevish. But +I have seen him pleasant enough in his way; much addicted to jealousy, +but more to fondness; so that as he is often jealous without a cause, +he's as often satisfied without reason. + +BELL. A very even temper, and fit for my purpose. I must get your man +Setter to provide my disguise. + +VAIN. Ay; you may take him for good and all, if you will, for you have +made him fit for nobody else. Well-- + +BELL. You're going to visit in return of Sylvia's letter. Poor rogue! +Any hour of the day or night will serve her. But do you know nothing of +a new rival there? + +VAIN. Yes; Heartwell--that surly, old, pretended woman-hater--thinks her +virtuous; that's one reason why I fail her. I would have her fret +herself out of conceit with me, that she may entertain some thoughts of +him. I know he visits her every day. + +BELL. Yet rails on still, and thinks his love unknown to us. A little +time will swell him so, he must be forced to give it birth; and the +discovery must needs be very pleasant from himself, to see what pains he +will take, and how he will strain to be delivered of a secret, when he +has miscarried of it already. + +VAIN. Well, good-morrow. Let's dine together; I'll meet at the old +place. + +BELL. With all my heart. It lies convenient for us to pay our afternoon +services to our mistresses. I find I am damnably in love, I'm so uneasy +for not having seen Belinda yesterday. + +VAIN. But I saw my Araminta, yet am as impatient. + + + +SCENE II. + + +BELLMOUR _alone_. + +BELL. Why, what a cormorant in love am I! Who, not contented with the +slavery of honourable love in one place, and the pleasure of enjoying +some half a score mistresses of my own acquiring, must yet take +Vainlove's business upon my hands, because it lay too heavy upon his; so +am not only forced to lie with other men's wives for 'em, but must also +undertake the harder task of obliging their mistresses. I must take up, +or I shall never hold out. Flesh and blood cannot bear it always. + + + +SCENE III. + + +[_To him_] SHARPER. + +SHARP. I'm sorry to see this, Ned. Once a man comes to his soliloquies, +I give him for gone. + +BELL. Sharper, I'm glad to see thee. + +SHARP. What! is Belinda cruel, that you are so thoughtful? + +BELL. No, faith, not for that. But there's a business of consequence +fallen out to-day that requires some consideration. + +SHARP. Prithee, what mighty business of consequence canst thou have? + +BELL. Why, you must know, 'tis a piece of work toward the finishing of +an alderman. It seems I must put the last hand to it, and dub him +cuckold, that he may be of equal dignity with the rest of his brethren: +so I must beg Belinda's pardon. + +SHARP. Faith, e'en give her over for good and all; you can have no hopes +of getting her for a mistress; and she is too proud, too inconstant, too +affected and too witty, and too handsome for a wife. + +BELL. But she can't have too much money. There's twelve thousand pound, +Tom. 'Tis true she is excessively foppish and affected; but in my +conscience I believe the baggage loves me: for she never speaks well of +me herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me. Then, as I told you, +there's twelve thousand pound. Hum! Why, faith, upon second thoughts, +she does not appear to be so very affected neither.--Give her her due, I +think the woman's a woman, and that's all. As such, I'm sure I shall +like her; for the devil take me if I don't love all the sex. + +SHARP. And here comes one who swears as heartily he hates all the sex. + + + +SCENE IV. + + +[_To them_] HEARTWELL. + +BELL. Who? Heartwell? Ay, but he knows better things. How now, +George, where hast thou been snarling odious truths, and entertaining +company, like a physician, with discourse of their diseases and +infirmities? What fine lady hast thou been putting out of conceit with +herself, and persuading that the face she had been making all the morning +was none of her own? For I know thou art as unmannerly and as unwelcome +to a woman as a looking-glass after the smallpox. + +HEART. I confess I have not been sneering fulsome lies and nauseous +flattery; fawning upon a little tawdry whore, that will fawn upon me +again, and entertain any puppy that comes, like a tumbler, with the same +tricks over and over. For such, I guess, may have been your late +employment. + +BELL. Would thou hadst come a little sooner. Vainlove would have +wrought thy conversion, and been a champion for the cause. + +HEART. What! has he been here? That's one of love's April fools; is +always upon some errand that's to no purpose; ever embarking in +adventures, yet never comes to harbour. + +SHARP. That's because he always sets out in foul weather, loves to +buffet with the winds, meet the tide, and sail in the teeth of +opposition. + +HEART. What! Has he not dropt anchor at Araminta? + +BELL. Truth on't is she fits his temper best, is a kind of floating +island; sometimes seems in reach, then vanishes and keeps him busied in +the search. + +SHARP. She had need have a good share of sense to manage so capricious a +lover. + +BELL. Faith I don't know, he's of a temper the most easy to himself in +the world; he takes as much always of an amour as he cares for, and quits +it when it grows stale or unpleasant. + +SHARP. An argument of very little passion, very good understanding, and +very ill nature. + +HEART. And proves that Vainlove plays the fool with discretion. + +SHARP. You, Bellmour, are bound in gratitude to stickle for him; you +with pleasure reap that fruit, which he takes pains to sow: he does the +drudgery in the mine, and you stamp your image on the gold. + +BELL. He's of another opinion, and says I do the drudgery in the mine. +Well, we have each our share of sport, and each that which he likes best; +'tis his diversion to set, 'tis mine to cover the partridge. + +HEART. And it should be mine to let 'em go again. + +SHARP. Not till you had mouthed a little, George. I think that's all +thou art fit for now. + +HEART. Good Mr. Young-Fellow, you're mistaken; as able as yourself, and +as nimble, too, though I mayn't have so much mercury in my limbs; 'tis +true, indeed, I don't force appetite, but wait the natural call of my +lust, and think it time enough to be lewd after I have had the +temptation. + +BELL. Time enough, ay, too soon, I should rather have expected, from a +person of your gravity. + +HEART. Yet it is oftentimes too late with some of you young, termagant, +flashy sinners--you have all the guilt of the intention, and none of the +pleasure of the practice--'tis true you are so eager in pursuit of the +temptation, that you save the devil the trouble of leading you into it. +Nor is it out of discretion that you don't swallow that very hook +yourselves have baited, but you are cloyed with the preparative, and what +you mean for a whet, turns the edge of your puny stomachs. Your love is +like your courage, which you show for the first year or two upon all +occasions; till in a little time, being disabled or disarmed, you abate +of your vigour; and that daring blade which was so often drawn, is bound +to the peace for ever after. + +BELL. Thou art an old fornicator of a singular good principle indeed, +and art for encouraging youth, that they may be as wicked as thou art at +thy years. + +HEART. I am for having everybody be what they pretend to be: a +whoremaster be a whoremaster, and not like Vainlove, kiss a lap-dog with +passion, when it would disgust him from the lady's own lips. + +BELL. That only happens sometimes, where the dog has the sweeter breath, +for the more cleanly conveyance. But, George, you must not quarrel with +little gallantries of this nature: women are often won by 'em. Who would +refuse to kiss a lap-dog, if it were preliminary to the lips of his lady? + +SHARP. Or omit playing with her fan, and cooling her if she were hot, +when it might entitle him to the office of warming her when she should be +cold? + +BELL. What is it to read a play in a rainy day? Though you should be +now and then interrupted in a witty scene, and she perhaps preserve her +laughter, till the jest were over; even that may be borne with, +considering the reward in prospect. + +HEART. I confess you that are women's asses bear greater burdens: are +forced to undergo dressing, dancing, singing, sighing, whining, rhyming, +flattering, lying, grinning, cringing, and the drudgery of loving to +boot. + +BELL. O brute, the drudgery of loving! + +HEART. Ay! Why, to come to love through all these incumbrances is like +coming to an estate overcharged with debts, which, by the time you have +paid, yields no further profit than what the bare tillage and manuring of +the land will produce at the expense of your own sweat. + +BELL. Prithee, how dost thou love? + +SHARP. He! He hates the sex. + +HEART. So I hate physic too--yet I may love to take it for my health. + +BELL. Well come off, George, if at any time you should be taken +straying. + +SHARP. He has need of such an excuse, considering the present state of +his body. + +HEART. How d'ye mean? + +SHARP. Why, if whoring be purging, as you call it, then, I may say, +marriage is entering into a course of physic. + +BELL. How, George! Does the wind blow there? + +HEART. It will as soon blow north and by south--marry, quotha! I hope +in heaven I have a greater portion of grace, and I think I have baited +too many of those traps to be caught in one myself. + +BELL. Who the devil would have thee? unless 'twere an oysterwoman to +propagate young fry for Billingsgate--thy talent will never recommend +thee to anything of better quality. + +HEART. My talent is chiefly that of speaking truth, which I don't expect +should ever recommend me to people of quality. I thank heaven I have +very honestly purchased the hatred of all the great families in town. + +SHARP. And you in return of spleen hate them. But could you hope to be +received into the alliance of a noble family-- + +HEART. No; I hope I shall never merit that affliction, to be punished +with a wife of birth, be a stag of the first head and bear my horns +aloft, like one of the supporters of my wife's coat. S'death I would not +be a Cuckold to e'er an illustrious whore in England. + +BELL. What, not to make your family, man and provide for your children? + +SHARP. For her children, you mean. + +HEART. Ay, there you've nicked it. There's the devil upon devil. Oh, +the pride and joy of heart 'twould be to me to have my son and heir +resemble such a duke; to have a fleering coxcomb scoff and cry, 'Mr. your +son's mighty like his Grace, has just his smile and air of's face.' Then +replies another, 'Methinks he has more of the Marquess of such a place +about his nose and eyes, though he has my Lord what-d'ye-call's mouth to +a tittle.' Then I, to put it off as unconcerned, come chuck the infant +under the chin, force a smile, and cry, 'Ay, the boy takes after his +mother's relations,' when the devil and she knows 'tis a little compound +of the whole body of nobility. + +BELL+SHARP. Ha, ha, ha! + +BELL. Well, but, George, I have one question to ask you-- + +HEART. Pshaw, I have prattled away my time. I hope you are in no haste +for an answer, for I shan't stay now. [_Looking on his watch_.] + +BELL. Nay, prithee, George-- + +HEART. No; besides my business, I see a fool coming this way. Adieu. + + + +SCENE V. + + +SHARPER, BELLMOUR. + +BELL. What does he mean? Oh, 'tis Sir Joseph Wittoll with his friend; +but I see he has turned the corner and goes another way. + +SHARP. What in the name of wonder is it? + +BELL. Why, a fool. + +SHARP. 'Tis a tawdry outside. + +BELL. And a very beggarly lining--yet he may be worth your acquaintance; +a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may extract gold from that dirt. + +SHARP. Say you so? 'Faith I am as poor as a chymist, and would be as +industrious. But what was he that followed him? Is not he a dragon that +watches those golden pippins? + +BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, 'tis a very peaceful one. I +can ensure his anger dormant; or should he seem to rouse, 'tis but well +lashing him, and he will sleep like a top. + +SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney? + +BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, as the image of +valour. He calls him his back, and indeed they are never asunder--yet, +last night, I know not by what mischance, the knight was alone, and had +fallen into the hands of some night-walkers, who, I suppose, would have +pillaged him. But I chanced to come by and rescued him, though I believe +he was heartily frightened; for as soon as ever he was loose, he ran away +without staying to see who had helped him. + +SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army? + +BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier, which +nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does atheism. You +must know he has been abroad--went purely to run away from a campaign; +enriched himself with the plunder of a few oaths, and here vents them +against the general, who, slighting men of merit, and preferring only +those of interest, has made him quit the service. + +SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own performance. + +BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own praise--the only implement +of a soldier he resembles, like that, being full of blustering noise and +emptiness-- + +SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten. + +BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will take a drubbing +with as little noise as a pulpit cushion. + +SHARP. His name, and I have done? + +BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded with a title: he +is called Capt. Bluffe. + +SHARP. Well, I'll endeavour his acquaintance--you steer another course, +are bound-- + + For love's island: I, for the golden coast. + May each succeed in what he wishes most. + + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I. + + +SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, SHARPER _following_. + +SHARP. Sure that's he, and alone. + +SIR JO. Um--Ay, this, this is the very damned place; the inhuman +cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would have butchered me last +night. No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and +devoured, etc. + +SHARP. How's this! + +SIR JO. An it hadn't been for a civil gentleman as came by and frighted +'em away--but, agad, I durst not stay to give him thanks. + +SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I have a thought-- + +SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very remembrance makes +me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to this place heartily. + +SHARP. 'Tis but trying, and being where I am at worst, now luck!--cursed +fortune! this must be the place, this damned unlucky place-- + +SIR JO. Agad, and so 'tis. Why, here has been more mischief done, I +perceive. + +SHARP. No, 'tis gone, 'tis lost--ten thousand devils on that chance +which drew me hither; ay, here, just here, this spot to me is hell; +nothing to be found, but the despair of what I've lost. [_Looking about +as in search_.] + +SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry I'll stay no longer, for I +have found too-- + +SHARP. Ha! who's that has found? What have you found? Restore it +quickly, or by-- + +SIR JO. Not I, sir, not I; as I've a soul to be saved, I have found +nothing but what has been to my loss, as I may say, and as you were +saying, sir. + +SHARP. Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it seems. 'Tis an ill +wind that blows nobody good. Well, you may rejoice over my ill fortune, +since it paid the price of your ransom. + +SIR JO. I rejoice! agad, not I, sir: I'm very sorry for your loss, with +all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and if you did but know me, you'd +ne'er say I were so ill-natured. + +SHARP. Know you! Why, can you be so ungrateful to forget me? + +SIR JO. O Lord, forget him! No, no, sir, I don't forget you--because I +never saw your face before, agad. Ha, ha, ha! + +SHARP. How! [_Angrily_.] + +SIR JO. Stay, stay, sir, let me recollect--he's a damned angry fellow--I +believe I had better remember him, until I can get out of his sight; but +out of sight out of mind, agad. [_Aside_.] + +SHARP. Methought the service I did you last night, sir, in preserving +you from those ruffians, might have taken better root in your shallow +memory. + +SIR JO. Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is the very +gentleman! How shall I make him a return suitable to the greatness of +his merit? I had a pretty thing to that purpose, if he ha'n't frighted +it out of my memory. Hem! hem! sir, I most submissively implore your +pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and omission; having my entire +dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of your goodness, which, like an +inundation, will, I hope, totally immerge the recollection of my error, +and leave me floating, in your sight, upon the full-blown bladders of +repentance--by the help of which, I shall once more hope to swim into +your favour. [_Bows_.] + +SHARP. So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the acknowledgment of a +gentleman-- + +SIR JO. Acknowledgment! Sir, I am all over acknowledgment, and will not +stick to show it in the greatest extremity by night or by day, in +sickness or in health, winter or summer; all seasons and occasions shall +testify the reality and gratitude of your superabundant humble servant, +Sir Joseph Wittoll, knight. Hem! hem! + +SHARP. Sir Joseph Wittoll? + +SIR JO. The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in _Comitatu_ Bucks. + +SHARP. Is it possible! Then I am happy to have obliged the mirror of +knighthood and pink of courtesie in the age. Let me embrace you. + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir! + +SHARP. My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with interest, since it has +purchased me the friendship and acquaintance of the person in the world +whose character I admire. + +SIR JO. You are only pleased to say so, sir. But, pray, if I may be so +bold, what is that loss you mention? + +SHARP. Oh, term it no longer so, sir. In the scuffle last night I only +dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, I confess, I came half despairing +to recover; but, thanks to my better fortune-- + +SIR JO. You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I profess I'm heartily +glad-- + +SHARP. Sir, your humble servant. I don't question but you are, that you +have so cheap an opportunity of expressing your gratitude and generosity, +since the paying so trivial a sum will wholly acquit you and doubly +engage me. + +SIR JO. What a dickens does he mean by a trivial sum? [_Aside_.] But +ha'n't you found it, sir! + +SHARP. No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in you, sir. + +SIR JO. Humh. + +SHARP. But that's sufficient. 'Twere injustice to doubt the honour of +Sir Joseph Wittoll. + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir. + +SHARP. You are above, I'm sure, a thought so low, to suffer me to lose +what was ventured in your service; nay, 'twas in a manner paid down for +your deliverance; 'twas so much lent you. And you scorn, I'll say that +for you-- + +SIR JO. Nay, I'll say that for myself, with your leave, sir, I do scorn +a dirty thing. But, agad, I'm a little out of pocket at present. + +SHARP. Pshaw, you can't want a hundred pound. Your word is sufficient +anywhere. 'Tis but borrowing so much dirt. You have large acres, and +can soon repay it. Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph--mere dirt. + +SIR JO. But, I profess, 'tis a dirt I have washed my hands of at +present; I have laid it all out upon my Back. + +SHARP. Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, ha, a very good +jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and that's a better jest +than t'other. 'Tis a sign you and I ha'n't been long acquainted; you +have lost a good jest for want of knowing me--I only mean a friend of +mine whom I call my Back; he sticks as close to me, and follows me +through all dangers--he is indeed back, breast, and head-piece, as it +were, to me. Agad, he's a brave fellow. Pauh, I am quite another thing +when I am with him: I don't fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by. +Ah! had he been with me last night-- + +SHARP. If he had, sir, what then? he could have done no more, nor +perhaps have suffered so much. Had he a hundred pound to lose? +[_Angrily_.] + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved a hundred +pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir (a damned hot +fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all my ready money to +redeem his great sword from limbo. But, sir, I have a letter of credit +to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as two hundred pound, and this afternoon +you shall see I am a person, such a one as you would wish to have met +with-- + +SHARP. That you are, I'll be sworn. [_Aside_.] Why, that's great and +like yourself. + + + +SCENE II. + + +[_To them_] CAPTAIN BLUFFE. + +SIR JO. Oh, here a' comes--Ay, my Hector of Troy, welcome, my bully, my +Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit pat for thee. + +BLUFF. How now, my young knight? Not for fear, I hope; he that knows me +must be a stranger to fear. + +SIR JO. Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to have died of a +fright. But-- + +BLUFF. But? Look you here, boy, here's your antidote, here's your +Jesuits' powder for a shaking fit. But who hast thou got with thee? is +he of mettle? [_Laying his hand upon his sword_.] + +SIR JO. Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: 'a will fight like a cock. + +BLUFF. Say you so? Then I honour him. But has he been abroad? for +every cock will fight upon his own dunghill. + +SIR JO. I don't know, but I'll present you-- + +BLUFF. I'll recommend myself. Sir, I honour you; I understand you love +fighting, I reverence a man that loves fighting. Sir, I kiss your hilts. + +SHARP. Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, unless it be to +serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, my country, or my +religion, or in some very justifiable cause, I'm not for it. + +BLUFF. O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are not of my palate: +you can't relish a dish of fighting without sweet sauce. Now, I think +fighting for fighting sake's sufficient cause; fighting to me's religion +and the laws. + +SIR JO. Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir? by the Lord +Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and cloth to him. But, +Back, this gentleman is one of the best friends I have in the world, and +saved my life last night--you know I told you. + +BLUFF. Ay! Then I honour him again. Sir, may I crave your name? + +SHARP. Ay, sir, my name's Sharper. + +SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very well. By the Lord +Harry, Mr. Sharper, he's as brave a fellow as Cannibal, are not you, +Bully-Back? + +SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph. + +BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a very pretty +fellow--but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious--Hannibal was a very +pretty fellow in those days, it must be granted--but alas, sir! were he +alive now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth. + +SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at this day a greater +general breathing. + +BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, sir? + +SHARP. Not I, really, sir. + +BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know nothing, sir: I am +afraid you scarce know the history of the late war in Flanders, with all +its particulars. + +SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or gazettes tell us. + +BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, sir, there are not three +words of truth the year round put into the Gazette. I'll tell you a +strange thing now as to that. You must know, sir, I was resident in +Flanders the last campaign, had a small post there, but no matter for +that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of moment done but an +humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, was an eye-witness of. I +won't say had the greatest share in't, though I might say that too, since +I name nobody you know. Well, Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In all +this time, as I hope for a truncheon, this rascally gazette-writer never +so much as once mentioned me--not once, by the wars--took no more notice +than as if Nol. Bluffe had not been in the land of the living. + +SHARP. Strange! + +SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, 'tis true, Mr. Sharper, for I went every +day to coffee-houses to read the gazette myself. + +BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, after all I am content +to retire; live a private person. Scipio and others have done it. + +SHARP. Impudent rogue. [_Aside_.] + +SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if he would put in +for't he might be made general himself yet. + +BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate this. + +SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you ate fire once out +of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; those impenetrable whiskers of +his have confronted flames-- + +BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he's so modest he'll own nothing. + +BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I was about. Pray +hold your tongue, and give me leave. [_Angrily_.] + +SIR JO. I am dumb. + +BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. Sharper. This sword +I'll maintain to be the best divine, anatomist, lawyer, or casuist in +Europe; it shall decide a controversy or split a cause-- + +SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by the Lord Harry, +I have seen it. + +BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it's a lie; you have not seen it, nor sha'n't see +it; sir, I say you can't see; what d'ye say to that now? + +SIR JO. I am blind. + +BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted me-- + +SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look that way. + +SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph's penitent. + +BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged culverin. But 'twas +indiscreet, when you know what will provoke me. Nay, come, Sir Joseph, +you know my heat's soon over. + +SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I'm sorry. + +BLUFF. Enough. + +SIR JO. Come, we'll go take a glass to drown animosities. Mr. Sharper, +will you partake? + +SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you are Sir Joseph's +back. + + + +SCENE III. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA, BETTY _waiting_, _in Araminta's apartment_. + +BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, no more. O +Gad! I swear you'd make one sick to hear you. + +ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus? + +BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of that +filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man. You don't know what you've +said; your fever has transported you. + +ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the cure. +Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be extinct till I +myself am ashes. + +BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy. This love +is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed. 'Tis in the +head, the heart, the blood, the--all over. O Gad, you are quite spoiled. +I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your sake. + +ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of Bellmour's company +would change the scene. + +BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin-- + +ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don't perceive you love +him. + +BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, love a man! + +ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast. + +BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass--which is so like your Vainlove. Lard, +I have seen an ass look so chagrin, ha, ha, ha (you must pardon me, I +can't help laughing), that an absolute lover would have concluded the +poor creature to have had darts, and flames, and altars, and all that in +his breast. Araminta, come, I'll talk seriously to you now; could you +but see with my eyes the buffoonery of one scene of address, a lover, set +out with all his equipage and appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would--But +you play the game, and consequently can't see the miscarriages obvious to +every stander by. + +ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and Bellmour meet. +You don't know that you dreamt of Bellmour last night, and called him +aloud in your sleep. + +BELIN. Pish, I can't help dreaming of the devil sometimes; would you +from thence infer I love him? + +ARAM. But that's not all; you caught me in your arms when you named him, +and pressed me to your bosom. Sure, if I had not pinched you until you +waked, you had stifled me with kisses. + +BELIN. O barbarous aspersion! + +ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I can tell you more. + +BELIN. I deny it all. + +ARAM. What, before you hear it? + +BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. Lard, cousin, you +talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my Sol, I'm afraid you'll follow +evil courses. + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant. + +BELIN. You may laugh, but-- + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha! + +BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. The devil take +Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him? + +ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am sure you love him. I +tell nobody else, cousin. I have not betrayed you yet. + +BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it's false. + +ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends. + +BELIN. Pish. + +ARAM. Prithee don't be so peevish. + +BELIN. Prithee don't be so impertinent. Betty! + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha! + +BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam? + +BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call a chair. + +ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, cousin. + + + +SCENE IV. + + +[_To them_] FOOTMAN. + +FOOT. Madam, there are-- + +BELIN. Is there a chair? + +FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove to wait upon +your ladyship. + +ARAM. Are they below? + +FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were at home. + +BELIN. The visit's to you, cousin; I suppose I am at my liberty. + +ARAM. Be ready to show 'em up. + + + +SCENE V. + + +[_To them_] BETTY, _with Hoods and Looking-glass_. + +I can't tell, cousin; I believe we are equally concerned. But if you +continue your humour, it won't be very entertaining. (I know she'd fain +be persuaded to stay.) [_Aside_.] + +BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full and free enjoyment +of that conversation you admire. + +BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look wretchedly to-day! + +ARAM. Betty, why don't you help my cousin? [_Putting on her hoods_.] + +BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair with a high +roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, you Mrs. Fidget--you are +so ready to go to the footman. Here, take 'em all again, my mind's +changed; I won't go. + + + +SCENE VI. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA. + +ARAM. So, this I expected. You won't oblige me, then, cousin, and let +me have all the company to myself? + +BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to trust you to +yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; and in this favourable +disposition of your mind, heaven knows how far you may be tempted: I am +tender of your reputation. + +ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who's malicious now, Belinda? + +BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure affection. + +ARAM. In my conscience I believe you. + + + +SCENE VII. + + +[_To them_] VAINLOVE, BELLMOUR, FOOTMAN. + +BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both within, ladies, is-- + +ARAM. No miracle, I hope. + +BELL. Not o' your side, madam, I confess. But my tyrant there and I, +are two buckets that can never come together. + +BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and clash. + +BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But this it is to run so +extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such a world of love in your +service, that you think you can never be able to pay me all. So shun me +for the same reason that you would a dun. + +BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent and troublesome of +duns--a dun for money will be quiet, when he sees his debtor has not +wherewithal. But a dun for love is an eternal torment that never rests-- + +BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, and then gets it +for his pains. For importunity in love, like importunity at Court, first +creates its own interest and then pursues it for the favour. + +ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, are like +discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, for his ease, +sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing of. + +VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be due rewards to +indefatigable devotion. For as love is a deity, he must be served by +prayer. + +BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, and let us alone. + +VAIN. You are the temples of love, and 'tis through you, our devotion +must be conveyed. + +ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which upon the least +displeasure you forsake and set up new. Every man now changes his +mistress and his religion as his humour varies, or his interest. + +VAIN. O madam-- + +ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great +danger of being dull. If my music-master be not gone, I'll entertain you +with a new song, which comes pretty near my own opinion of love and your +sex. Who's there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? [_Calls_.] + +FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I'll call him. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, _and_ BELLMOUR. + +BELL. Why, you won't hear me with patience. + +ARAM. What's the matter, cousin? + +BELL. Nothing, madam, only-- + +BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so pestered me with flames +and stuff, I think I sha'n't endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth. + +BELL. Yet all can't melt that cruel frozen heart. + +BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy--you said that once before--if +you must talk impertinently, for Heaven's sake let it be with variety; +don't come always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. I'll not hear a +sentence more, that begins with an 'I burn'--or an 'I beseech you, +madam.' + +BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am very tractable. + +BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence. + +BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the talk to yourself. +You had better let me speak; for if my thoughts fly to any pitch, I shall +make villainous signs. + +BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as I won't +understand? + +BELL. Ay, but if I'm tongue-tied, I must have all my actions free +to--quicken your apprehension--and I--gad let me tell you, my most +prevailing argument is expressed in dumb show. + + + +SCENE IX. + + +[_To them_] MUSIC-MASTER. + +ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the discourse. Pray +oblige us with the last new song. + +SONG. + +I. + +Thus to a ripe, consenting maid, +Poor, old, repenting Delia said, +Would you long preserve your lover? +Would you still his goddess reign? +Never let him all discover, +Never let him much obtain. + +II. + +Men will admire, adore and die, +While wishing at your feet they lie: +But admitting their embraces, +Wakes 'em from the golden dream; +Nothing's new besides our faces, +Every woman is the same. + +ARAM. So, how de'e like the song, gentlemen? + +BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don't much admire the words. + +ARAM. I expected it; there's too much truth in 'em. If Mr. Gavot will +walk with us in the garden, we'll have it once again; you may like it +better at second hearing. You'll bring my cousin. + +BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but I'll make signs. +[_Addresses Belinda in dumb show_.] + +BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous than your talking +impertinence, as an ape is a much more troublesome animal than a parrot. + +ARAM. Ay, cousin, and 'tis a sign the creatures mimic nature well; for +there are few men but do more silly things than they say. + +BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for my speech, and +set it at liberty--though, I confess, I could be well enough pleased to +drive on a love-bargain in that silent manner--'twould save a man a world +of lying and swearing at the year's end. Besides, I have had a little +experience, that brings to mind-- + +When wit and reason both have failed to move; +Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove, +Ev'n silence may be eloquent in love. + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I. + + +SCENE: _The Street_. + +SILVIA _and_ LUCY. + +SILV. Will he not come, then? + +LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in and be ready to +receive him. + +SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you? + +LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell. + +SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove. + +LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own maiden-head as his love. +Therefore, e'en set your heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity +mind your own business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait's worn off +the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly yesterday, and no doubt will +be eager enough to-day to swallow the temptation. + +SILV. Well, since there's no remedy--yet tell me--for I would know, +though to the anguish of my soul, how did he refuse? Tell me, how did he +receive my letter--in anger or in scorn? + +LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned senseless +indifference. By this light I could have spit in his face. Receive it! +Why, he received it as I would one of your lovers that should come empty- +handed; as a court lord does his mercer's bill or a begging dedication--he +received it as if 't had been a letter from his wife. + +SILV. What! did he not read it? + +LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he would take time +to peruse it--but then he was in haste. + +SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He's gone, and Araminta has bewitched +him from me. Oh, how the name of rival fires my blood. I could curse +'em both; eternal jealousy attend her love, and disappointment meet his. +Oh that I could revenge the torment he has caused; methinks I feel the +woman strong within me, and vengeance kindles in the room of love. + +LUCY. I have that in my head may make mischief. + +SILV. How, dear Lucy? + +LUCY. You know Araminta's dissembled coyness has won, and keeps him +hers-- + +SILV. Could we persuade him that she loves another-- + +LUCY. No, you're out; could we persuade him that she dotes on him, +himself. Contrive a kind letter as from her, 'twould disgust his nicety, +and take away his stomach. + +SILV. Impossible; 'twill never take. + +LUCY. Trouble not your head. Let me alone--I will inform myself of what +passed between 'em to-day, and about it straight. Hold, I'm mistaken, or +that's Heartwell, who stands talking at the corner--'tis he--go get you +in, madam, receive him pleasantly, dress up your face in innocence and +smiles, and dissemble the very want of dissimulation. You know what will +take him. + +SILV. 'Tis as hard to counterfeit love as it is to conceal it: but I'll +do my weak endeavour, though I fear I have not art. + +LUCY. Hang art, madam, and trust to nature for dissembling. + +Man was by nature woman's cully made: +We never are but by ourselves betrayed. + + + +SCENE II. + + +HEARTWELL, VAINLOVE _and_ BELLMOUR _following_. + +BELL. Hist, hist, is not that Heartwell going to Silvia? + +VAIN. He's talking to himself, I think; prithee let's try if we can hear +him. + +HEART. Why, whither in the devil's name am I agoing now? Hum--let me +think--is not this Silvia's house, the cave of that enchantress, and +which consequently I ought to shun as I would infection? To enter here +is to put on the envenomed shirt, to run into the embraces of a fever, +and in some raving fit, be led to plunge myself into that more consuming +fire, a woman's arms. Ha! well recollected, I will recover my reason, +and be gone. + +BELL. Now Venus forbid! + +VAIN. Hush-- + +HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your office--not one inch; +no, fore Gad I'm caught. There stands my north, and thither my needle +points. Now could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O thou delicious, +damned, dear, destructive woman! S'death, how the young fellows will +hoot me! I shall be the jest of the town: nay, in two days I expect to +be chronicled in ditty, and sung in woful ballad, to the tune of the +Superannuated Maiden's Comfort, or the Bachelor's Fall; and upon the +third, I shall be hanged in effigy, pasted up for the exemplary ornament +of necessary houses and cobblers' stalls. Death, I can't think on't--I'll +run into the danger to lose the apprehension. + + + +SCENE III. + + +BELLMOUR, VAINLOVE. + +BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, ha, poor George, +thou art i' th' right, thou hast sold thyself to laughter; the +ill-natured town will find the jest just where thou hast lost it. Ha, +ha, how a' struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees. + +VAIN. Or a young wench between pleasure and reputation. + +BELL. Or as you did to-day, when half afraid you snatched a kiss from +Araminta. + +VAIN. She has made a quarrel on't. + +BELL. Pauh, women are only angry at such offences to have the pleasure +of forgiving them. + +VAIN. And I love to have the pleasure of making my peace. I should not +esteem a pardon if too easily won. + +BELL. Thou dost not know what thou wouldst be at; whether thou wouldst +have her angry or pleased. Couldst thou be content to marry Araminta? + +VAIN. Could you be content to go to heaven? + +BELL. Hum, not immediately, in my conscience not heartily. I'd do a +little more good in my generation first, in order to deserve it. + +VAIN. Nor I to marry Araminta till I merit her. + +BELL. But how the devil dost thou expect to get her if she never yield? + +VAIN. That's true; but I would-- + +BELL. Marry her without her consent; thou 'rt a riddle beyond woman-- + + + +SCENE IV. + + +[_To them_] SETTER. + +Trusty Setter, what tidings? How goes the project? + +SETTER. As all lewd projects do, sir, where the devil prevents our +endeavours with success. + +BELL. A good hearing, Setter. + +VAIN. Well, I'll leave you with your engineer. + +BELL. And hast thou provided necessaries? + +SETTER. All, all, sir; the large sanctified hat, and the little precise +band, with a swinging long spiritual cloak, to cover carnal knavery--not +forgetting the black patch, which Tribulation Spintext wears, as I'm +informed, upon one eye, as a penal mourning for the ogling offences of +his youth; and some say, with that eye he first discovered the frailty of +his wife. + +BELL. Well, in this fanatic father's habit will I confess Laetitia. + +SETTER. Rather prepare her for confession, sir, by helping her to sin. + +BELL. Be at your master's lodging in the evening; I shall use the robes. + + + +SCENE V. + + +SETTER _alone_. + +SETTER. I shall, sir. I wonder to which of these two gentlemen I do +most properly appertain: the one uses me as his attendant; the other +(being the better acquainted with my parts) employs me as a pimp; why, +that's much the more honourable employment--by all means. I follow one +as my master, the other follows me as his conductor. + + + +SCENE VI. + + +[_To him_] LUCY. + +LUCY. There's the hang-dog, his man--I had a power over him in the reign +of my mistress; but he is too true a _Valet de Chambre_ not to affect his +master's faults, and consequently is revolted from his allegiance. + +SETTER. Undoubtedly 'tis impossible to be a pimp and not a man of parts. +That is without being politic, diligent, secret, wary, and so forth--and +to all this valiant as Hercules--that is, passively valiant and actively +obedient. Ah, Setter, what a treasure is here lost for want of being +known. + +LUCY. Here's some villainy afoot; he's so thoughtful. May be I may +discover something in my mask. Worthy sir, a word with you. [_Puts on +her mask_.] + +SETTER. Why, if I were known, I might come to be a great man-- + +LUCY. Not to interrupt your meditation-- + +SETTER. And I should not be the first that has procured his greatness by +pimping. + +LUCY. Now poverty and the pox light upon thee for a contemplative pimp. + +SETTER. Ha! what art who thus maliciously hast awakened me from my dream +of glory? Speak, thou vile disturber-- + +LUCY. Of thy most vile cogitations--thou poor, conceited wretch, how +wert thou valuing thyself upon thy master's employment? For he's the +head pimp to Mr. Bellmour. + +SETTER. Good words, damsel, or I shall--But how dost thou know my master +or me? + +LUCY. Yes; I know both master and man to be-- + +SETTER. To be men, perhaps; nay, faith, like enough: I often march in +the rear of my master, and enter the breaches which he has made. + +LUCY. Ay, the breach of faith, which he has begun: thou traitor to thy +lawful princess. + +SETTER. Why, how now! prithee who art? Lay by that worldly face and +produce your natural vizor. + +LUCY. No, sirrah, I'll keep it on to abuse thee and leave thee without +hopes of revenge. + +SETTER. Oh! I begin to smoke ye: thou art some forsaken Abigail we have +dallied with heretofore--and art come to tickle thy imagination with +remembrance of iniquity past. + +LUCY. No thou pitiful flatterer of thy master's imperfections; thou +maukin made up of the shreds and parings of his superfluous fopperies. + +SETTER. Thou art thy mistress's foul self, composed of her sullied +iniquities and clothing. + +LUCY. Hang thee, beggar's cur, thy master is but a mumper in love, lies +canting at the gate; but never dares presume to enter the house. + +SETTER. Thou art the wicket to thy mistress's gate, to be opened for all +comers. In fine thou art the highroad to thy mistress. + +LUCY. Beast, filthy toad, I can hold no longer, look and tremble. +[_Unmasks_.] + +SETTER. How, Mrs. Lucy! + +LUCY. I wonder thou hast the impudence to look me in the face. + +SETTER. Adsbud, who's in fault, mistress of mine? who flung the first +stone? who undervalued my function? and who the devil could know you by +instinct? + +LUCY. You could know my office by instinct, and be hanged, which you +have slandered most abominably. It vexes me not what you said of my +person; but that my innocent calling should be exposed and scandalised--I +cannot bear it. + +SETTER. Nay, faith, Lucy, I'm sorry, I'll own myself to blame, though we +were both in fault as to our offices--come, I'll make you any reparation. + +LUCY. Swear. + +SETTER. I do swear to the utmost of my power. + +LUCY. To be brief, then; what is the reason your master did not appear +to-day according to the summons I brought him? + +SETTER. To answer you as briefly--he has a cause to be tried in another +court. + +LUCY. Come, tell me in plain terms, how forward he is with Araminta. + +SETTER. Too forward to be turned back--though he's a little in disgrace +at present about a kiss which he forced. You and I can kiss, Lucy, +without all that. + +LUCY. Stand off--he's a precious jewel. + +SETTER. And therefore you'd have him to set in your lady's locket. + +LUCY. Where is he now? + +SETTER. He'll be in the Piazza presently. + +LUCY. Remember to-day's behaviour. Let me see you with a penitent face. + +SETTER. What, no token of amity, Lucy? You and I don't use to part with +dry lips. + +LUCY. No, no, avaunt--I'll not be slabbered and kissed now--I'm not i' +th' humour. + +SETTER. I'll not quit you so. I'll follow and put you into the humour. + + + +SCENE VII. + + +SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, BLUFFE. + +BLUFF. And so, out of your unwonted generosity-- + +SIR JO. And good-nature, Back; I am good-natured and I can't help it. + +BLUFF. You have given him a note upon Fondlewife for a hundred pound. + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, poor fellow; he ventured fair for't. + +BLUFF. You have disobliged me in it--for I have occasion for the money, +and if you would look me in the face again and live, go, and force him to +redeliver you the note. Go, and bring it me hither. I'll stay here for +you. + +SIR JO. You may stay until the day of judgment, then, by the Lord Harry. +I know better things than to be run through the guts for a hundred +pounds. Why, I gave that hundred pound for being saved, and de'e think, +an there were no danger, I'll be so ungrateful to take it from the +gentleman again? + +BLUFF. Well, go to him from me--tell him, I say, he must refund--or +Bilbo's the world, and slaughter will ensue. If he refuse, tell him--but +whisper that--tell him--I'll pink his soul. But whisper that softly to +him. + +SIR JO. So softly that he shall never hear on't, I warrant you. Why, +what a devil's the matter, Bully; are you mad? or de'e think I'm mad? +Agad, for my part, I don't love to be the messenger of ill news; 'tis an +ungrateful office--so tell him yourself. + +BLUFF. By these hilts I believe he frightened you into this composition: +I believe you gave it him out of fear, pure, paltry fear--confess. + +SIR JO. No, no, hang't; I was not afraid neither--though I confess he +did in a manner snap me up--yet I can't say that it was altogether out of +fear, but partly to prevent mischief--for he was a devilish choleric +fellow. And if my choler had been up too, agad, there would have been +mischief done, that's flat. And yet I believe if you had been by, I +would as soon have let him a' had a hundred of my teeth. Adsheart, if he +should come just now when I'm angry, I'd tell him--Mum. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + +[_To them_] BELLMOUR, SHARPER. + +BELL. Thou 'rt a lucky rogue; there's your benefactor; you ought to +return him thanks now you have received the favour. + +SHARP. Sir Joseph! Your note was accepted, and the money paid at sight. +I'm come to return my thanks-- + +SIR JO. They won't be accepted so readily as the bill, sir. + +BELL. I doubt the knight repents, Tom. He looks like the knight of the +sorrowful face. + +SHARP. This is a double generosity: do me a kindness and refuse my +thanks. But I hope you are not offended that I offered them. + +SIR JO. May be I am, sir, may be I am not, sir, may be I am both, sir; +what then? I hope I may be offended without any offence to you, sir. + +SHARP. Hey day! Captain, what's the matter? You can tell. + +BLUFF. Mr. Sharper, the matter is plain: Sir Joseph has found out your +trick, and does not care to be put upon, being a man of honour. + +SHARP. Trick, sir? + +SIR JO. Ay, trick, sir, and won't be put upon, sir, being a man of +honour, sir, and so, sir-- + +SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In consideration of some +favours lately received, I would not have you draw yourself into a +_premunire_, by trusting to that sign of a man there--that pot-gun +charged with wind. + +SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify yourself--I'll give him +the lie if you'll stand to it. + +SHARP. Nay, then, I'll be beforehand with you, take that, oaf. [_Cuffs +him_.] + +SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won't you pink his soul? + +BLUFF. Husht, 'tis not so convenient now--I shall find a time. + +SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? You were the +incendiary. There's to put you in mind of your time.--A memorandum. +[_Kicks him_.] + +BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use on't. + +SHARP. I--Gad and so I will: there's again for you. [_Kicks him_.] + +BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a place to thank +you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen again? + +SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be felt--as for example. +[_Kicks him_.] + +BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; 'tis scandalous to kick this puppy +unless a man were cold and had no other way to get himself aheat. + + + +SCENE IX. + + +SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. + +BLUFF. Very well--very fine--but 'tis no matter. Is not this fine, Sir +Joseph? + +SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very indifferent. I'd rather +go plain all my life than wear such finery. + +BLUFF. Death and hell to be affronted thus! I'll die before I'll suffer +it. [_Draws_.] + +SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. Nay, dear Captain, +don't be in passion now he's gone. Put up, put up, dear Back, 'tis your +Sir Joseph begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up. + +BLUFF. By heaven, 'tis not to be put up. + +SIR JO. What, Bully? + +BLUFF. The affront. + +SIR JO. No, aged, no more 'tis, for that's put up all already; thy +sword, I mean. + +BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty--But were not you, my friend, +abused, and cuffed, and kicked? [_Putting up his sword_.] + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, 'tis past. + +BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, 'tis false--he sucks not +vital air who dares affirm it to this face. [_Looks big_.] + +SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, I grant you--not to +that face, by the Lord Harry. If you had put on your fighting face +before, you had done his business--he durst as soon have kissed you, as +kicked you to your face. But a man can no more help what's done behind +his back than what's said--Come, we'll think no more of what's past. + +BLUFF. I'll call a council of war within to consider of my revenge to +come. + + + +SCENE X. + + +HEARTWELL, SILVIA. _Silvia's apartment_. + +SONG. + +As Amoret and Thyrsis lay +Melting the hours in gentle play, +Joining faces, mingling kisses, +And exchanging harmless blisses: +He trembling cried, with eager haste, +O let me feed as well as taste, +I die, if I'm not wholly blest. + +[_After the song a dance of antics_.] + +SILV. Indeed it is very fine. I could look upon 'em all day. + +HEART. Well has this prevailed for me, and will you look upon me? + +SILV. If you could sing and dance so, I should love to look upon you +too. + +HEART. Why, 'twas I sung and danced; I gave music to the voice, and life +to their measures. Look you here, Silvia, [_pulling out a purse and +chinking it_] here are songs and dances, poetry and music--hark! how +sweetly one guinea rhymes to another--and how they dance to the music of +their own chink. This buys all t'other--and this thou shalt have; this, +and all that I am worth, for the purchase of thy love. Say, is it mine +then, ha? Speak, Syren--Oons, why do I look on her! Yet I must. Speak, +dear angel, devil, saint, witch; do not rack me with suspense. + +SILV. Nay, don't stare at me so. You make me blush--I cannot look. + +HEART. O manhood, where art thou? What am I come to? A woman's toy, at +these years! Death, a bearded baby for a girl to dandle. O dotage, +dotage! That ever that noble passion, lust, should ebb to this degree. +No reflux of vigorous blood: but milky love supplies the empty channels; +and prompts me to the softness of a child--a mere infant and would suck. +Can you love me, Silvia? Speak. + +SILV. I dare not speak until I believe you, and indeed I'm afraid to +believe you yet. + +HEART. Death, how her innocence torments and pleases me! Lying, child, +is indeed the art of love, and men are generally masters in it: but I'm +so newly entered, you cannot distrust me of any skill in the treacherous +mystery. Now, by my soul, I cannot lie, though it were to serve a friend +or gain a mistress. + +SILV. Must you lie, then, if you say you love me? + +HEART. No, no, dear ignorance, thou beauteous changeling--I tell thee I +do love thee, and tell it for a truth, a naked truth, which I'm ashamed +to discover. + +SILV. But love, they say, is a tender thing, that will smooth frowns, +and make calm an angry face; will soften a rugged temper, and make ill- +humoured people good. You look ready to fright one, and talk as if your +passion were not love, but anger. + +HEART. 'Tis both; for I am angry with myself when I am pleased with you. +And a pox upon me for loving thee so well--yet I must on. 'Tis a bearded +arrow, and will more easily be thrust forward than drawn back. + +SILV. Indeed, if I were well assured you loved; but how can I be well +assured? + +HEART. Take the symptoms--and ask all the tyrants of thy sex if their +fools are not known by this party-coloured livery. I am melancholic when +thou art absent; look like an ass when thou art present; wake for thee +when I should sleep; and even dream of thee when I am awake; sigh much, +drink little, eat less, court solitude, am grown very entertaining to +myself, and (as I am informed) very troublesome to everybody else. If +this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable. Nay, yet a +more certain sign than all this, I give thee my money. + +SILV. Ay, but that is no sign; for they say, gentlemen will give money +to any naughty woman to come to bed to them. O Gemini, I hope you don't +mean so--for I won't be a whore. + +HEART. The more is the pity. [_Aside_.] + +SILV. Nay, if you would marry me, you should not come to bed to me--you +have such a beard, and would so prickle one. But do you intend to marry +me? + +HEART. That a fool should ask such a malicious question! Death, I shall +be drawn in before I know where I am. However, I find I am pretty sure +of her consent, if I am put to it. [_Aside_.] Marry you? No, no, I'll +love you. + +SILV. Nay, but if you love me, you must marry me. What, don't I know my +father loved my mother and was married to her? + +HEART. Ay, ay, in old days people married where they loved; but that +fashion is changed, child. + +SILV. Never tell me that; I know it is not changed by myself: for I love +you, and would marry you. + +HEART. I'll have my beard shaved, it sha'n't hurt thee, and we'll go to +bed-- + +SILV. No, no, I'm not such a fool neither, but I can keep myself honest. +Here, I won't keep anything that's yours; I hate you now, [_throws the +purse_] and I'll never see you again, 'cause you'd have me be naught. +[_Going_.] + +HEART. Damn her, let her go, and a good riddance. Yet so much +tenderness and beauty and honesty together is a jewel. Stay, Silvia--But +then to marry; why, every man plays the fool once in his life. But to +marry is playing the fool all one's life long. + +SILV. What did you call me for? + +HEART. I'll give thee all I have, and thou shalt live with me in +everything so like my wife, the world shall believe it. Nay, thou shalt +think so thyself--only let me not think so. + +SILV. No, I'll die before I'll be your whore--as well as I love you. + +HEART. [_Aside_.] A woman, and ignorant, may be honest, when 'tis out +of obstinacy and contradiction. But, s'death, it is but a may be, and +upon scurvy terms. Well, farewell then--if I can get out of sight I may +get the better of myself. + +SILV. Well--good-bye. [_Turns and weeps_.] + +HEART. Ha! Nay, come, we'll kiss at parting. [_Kisses her_.] By +heaven, her kiss is sweeter than liberty. I will marry thee. There, +thou hast done't. All my resolves melted in that kiss--one more. + +SILV. But when? + +HEART. I'm impatient until it be done; I will not give myself liberty to +think, lest I should cool. I will about a licence straight--in the +evening expect me. One kiss more to confirm me mad; so. + +SILV. Ha, ha, ha, an old fox trapped-- + + + +SCENE XI. + + +[_To her_] LUCY. + +Bless me! you frighted me; I thought he had been come again, and had +heard me. + +LUCY. Lord, madam, I met your lover in as much haste as if he had been +going for a midwife. + +SILV. He's going for a parson, girl, the forerunner of a midwife, some +nine months hence. Well, I find dissembling to our sex is as natural as +swimming to a negro; we may depend upon our skill to save us at a plunge, +though till then, we never make the experiment. But how hast thou +succeeded? + +LUCY. As you would wish--since there is no reclaiming Vainlove. I have +found out a pique she has taken at him, and have framed a letter that +makes her sue for reconciliation first. I know that will do--walk in and +I'll show it you. Come, madam, you're like to have a happy time on't; +both your love and anger satisfied! All that can charm our sex conspire +to please you. + +That woman sure enjoys a blessed night, +Whom love and vengeance both at once delight. + + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE I. + + +SCENE: _The Street_. + +BELLMOUR, _in fanatic habit_, SETTER. + +BELL. 'Tis pretty near the hour. [_Looking on his watch_.] Well, and +how, Setter, hae, does my hypocrisy fit me, hae? Does it sit easy on me? + +SET. Oh, most religiously well, sir. + +BELL. I wonder why all our young fellows should glory in an opinion of +atheism, when they may be so much more conveniently lewd under the +coverlet of religion. + +SET. S'bud, sir, away quickly: there's Fondlewife just turned the +corner, and 's coming this way. + +BELL. Gad's so, there he is: he must not see me. + + + +SCENE II. + + +FONDLEWIFE, BARNABY. + +FOND. I say I will tarry at home. + +BAR. But, sir. + +FOND. Good lack! I profess the spirit of contradiction hath possessed +the lad--I say I will tarry at home, varlet. + +BAR. I have done, sir; then farewell five hundred pound. + +FOND. Ha, how's that? Stay, stay, did you leave word, say you, with his +wife? With Comfort herself? + +BAR. I did; and Comfort will send Tribulation hither as soon as ever he +comes home. I could have brought young Mr. Prig to have kept my mistress +company in the meantime. But you say-- + +FOND. How, how, say, varlet! I say let him not come near my doors. I +say, he is a wanton young Levite, and pampereth himself up with dainties, +that he may look lovely in the eyes of women. Sincerely, I am afraid he +hath already defiled the tabernacle of our sister Comfort; while her good +husband is deluded by his godly appearance. I say that even lust doth +sparkle in his eyes and glow upon his cheeks, and that I would as soon +trust my wife with a lord's high-fed chaplain. + +BAR. Sir, the hour draws nigh, and nothing will be done here until you +come. + +FOND. And nothing can be done here until I go; so that I'll tarry, de'e +see. + +BAR. And run the hazard to lose your affair, sir! + +FOND. Good lack, good lack--I profess it is a very sufficient vexation +for a man to have a handsome wife. + +BAR. Never, sir, but when the man is an insufficient husband. 'Tis +then, indeed, like the vanity of taking a fine house, and yet be forced +to let lodgings to help pay the rent. + +FOND. I profess a very apt comparison, varlet. Go and bid my Cocky come +out to me; I will give her some instructions, I will reason with her +before I go. + + + +SCENE III. + + +FONDLEWIFE _alone_. + +And in the meantime I will reason with myself. Tell me, Isaac, why art +thee jealous? Why art thee distrustful of the wife of thy bosom? Because +she is young and vigorous, and I am old and impotent. Then why didst +thee marry, Isaac? Because she was beautiful and tempting, and because I +was obstinate and doting; so that my inclination was (and is still) +greater than my power. And will not that which tempted thee, also tempt +others, who will tempt her, Isaac? I fear it much. But does not thy +wife love thee, nay, dote upon thee? Yes. Why then! Ay, but to say +truth, she's fonder of me than she has reason to be; and in the way of +trade, we still suspect the smoothest dealers of the deepest designs. And +that she has some designs deeper than thou canst reach, thou hast +experimented, Isaac. But, mum. + + + +SCENE IV. + + +FONDLEWIFE, LAETITIA. + +LAET. I hope my dearest jewel is not going to leave me--are you, Nykin? + +FOND. Wife--have you thoroughly considered how detestable, how heinous, +and how crying a sin the sin of adultery is? Have you weighed it, I say? +For it is a very weighty sin; and although it may lie heavy upon thee, +yet thy husband must also bear his part. For thy iniquity will fall upon +his head. + +LAET. Bless me, what means my dear? + +FOND. [_Aside_.] I profess she has an alluring eye; I am doubtful +whether I shall trust her, even with Tribulation himself. Speak, I say, +have you considered what it is to cuckold your husband? + +LAET. [_Aside_.] I'm amazed. Sure he has discovered nothing. Who has +wronged me to my dearest? I hope my jewel does not think that ever I had +any such thing in my head, or ever will have. + +FOND. No, no, I tell you I shall have it in my head-- + +LAET. [_Aside_.] I know not what to think. But I'm resolved to find +the meaning of it. Unkind dear! Was it for this you sent to call me? Is +it not affliction enough that you are to leave me, but you must study to +increase it by unjust suspicions? [_Crying_.] Well--well--you know my +fondness, and you love to tyrannise--Go on, cruel man, do: triumph over +my poor heart while it holds, which cannot be long, with this usage of +yours. But that's what you want. Well, you will have your ends soon. +You will--you will. Yes, it will break to oblige you. [_Sighs_.] + +FOND. Verily, I fear I have carried the jest too far. Nay, look you now +if she does not weep--'tis the fondest fool. Nay, Cocky, Cocky, nay, +dear Cocky, don't cry, I was but in jest, I was not, ifeck. + +LAET. [_Aside_.] Oh then, all's safe. I was terribly frighted. My +affliction is always your jest, barbarous man! Oh, that I should love to +this degree! Yet-- + +FOND. Nay, Cocky. + +LAET. No, no, you are weary of me, that's it--that's all, you would get +another wife--another fond fool, to break her heart--Well, be as cruel as +you can to me, I'll pray for you; and when I am dead with grief, may you +have one that will love you as well as I have done: I shall be contented +to lie at peace in my cold grave--since it will please you. [_Sighs_.] + +FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of oak--I profess I +can hold no longer. Nay, dear Cocky--ifeck, you'll break my heart--ifeck +you will. See, you have made me weep--made poor Nykin weep. Nay, come +kiss, buss poor Nykin--and I won't leave thee--I'll lose all first. + +LAET. [_Aside_.] How! Heaven forbid! that will be carrying the jest +too far indeed. + +FOND. Won't you kiss Nykin? + +LAET. Go, naughty Nykin, you don't love me. + +FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do. + +LAET. No, you don't. [_She kisses him_.] + +FOND. What, not love Cocky! + +LAET. No-h. [_Sighs_.] + +FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred pound--and so +thou shalt say, for I'll leave it to stay with thee. + +LAET. No you sha'n't neglect your business for me. No, indeed, you +sha'n't, Nykin. If you don't go, I'll think you been dealous of me +still. + +FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I will go, I won't be +dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here will be +the good man anon, to talk to Cocky and teach her how a wife ought to +behave herself. + +LAET. [_Aside_.] I hope to have one that will show me how a husband +ought to behave himself. I shall be glad to learn, to please my jewel. +[_Kiss_.] + +FOND. That's my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin once more, and then get you +in. So--get you in, get you in. Bye, bye. + +LAET. Bye, Nykin. + +FOND. Bye, Cocky. + +LAET. Bye, Nykin. + +FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye. + + + +SCENE V. + + +VAINLOVE, SHARPER. + +SHARP. How! Araminta lost! + +VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. [_Gives a letter_.] + +SHARP. [_Reads_.] Hum, hum! And what then appeared a fault, upon +reflection seems only an effect of a too powerful passion. I'm afraid I +give too great a proof of my own at this time. I am in disorder for what +I have written. But something, I know not what, forced me. I only beg a +favourable censure of this and your ARAMINTA. + +SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy wits. Here, here, +she's thy own, man, signed and sealed too. To her, man--a delicious +melon, pure and consenting ripe, and only waits thy cutting up: she has +been breeding love to thee all this while, and just now she's delivered +of it. + +VAIN. 'Tis an untimely fruit, and she has miscarried of her love. + +SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, Frank? Thou hast a +sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love and cannot digest it. + +VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be crammed. By heaven, +there's not a woman will give a man the pleasure of a chase: my sport is +always balked or cut short. I stumble over the game I would pursue. 'Tis +dull and unnatural to have a hare run full in the hounds' mouth, and +would distaste the keenest hunter. I would have overtaken, not have met, +my game. + +SHARP. However, I hope you don't mean to forsake it; that will be but a +kind of mongrel cur's trick. Well, are you for the Mall? + +VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I will go too, and she +shall see her error in-- + +SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be so great a brute as +to slight her. + +VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her management I should +think she expects it. + +All naturally fly what does pursue: +'Tis fit men should be coy when women woo. + + + +SCENE VI. + + +_A Room in Fondlewife's House_. + +A SERVANT _introducing_ BELLMOUR, _in fanatic habit_, _with a patch upon +one eye and a book in his hand_. + +SERV. Here's a chair, sir, if you please to repose yourself. My +mistress is coming, sir. + +BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion and even dared +discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and trusty Scarron's novels my prayer- +book; methinks I am the very picture of Montufar in the Hypocrites. Oh! +she comes. + + + +SCENE VII. + + +BELLMOUR, LAETITIA. + +So breaks Aurora through the veil of night, +Thus fly the clouds, divided by her light, +And every eye receives a new-born sight. +[_Throwing off his cloak_, _patch_, _etc._] + +LAET. Thus strewed with blushes, like--Ah! Heaven defend me! Who's +this? [_Discovering him_, _starts_.] + +BELL. Your lover. + +LAET. Vainlove's friend! I know his face, and he has betrayed me to +him. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. You are surprised. Did you not expect a lover, madam? Those eyes +shone kindly on my first appearance, though now they are o'ercast. + +LAET. I may well be surprised at your person and impudence: they are +both new to me. You are not what your first appearance promised: the +piety of your habit was welcome, but not the hypocrisy. + +BELL. Rather the hypocrisy was welcome, but not the hypocrite. + +LAET. Who are you, sir? You have mistaken the house sure. + +BELL. I have directions in my pocket which agree with everything but +your unkindness. [_Pulls out the letter_.] + +LAET. My letter! Base Vainlove! Then 'tis too late to dissemble. +[_Aside_.] 'Tis plain, then, you have mistaken the person. [_Going_.] + +BELL. If we part so I'm mistaken. Hold, hold, madam! I confess I have +run into an error. I beg your pardon a thousand times. What an eternal +blockhead am I! Can you forgive me the disorder I have put you into? But +it is a mistake which anybody might have made. + +LAET. What can this mean? 'Tis impossible he should be mistaken after +all this. A handsome fellow if he had not surprised me. Methinks, now I +look on him again, I would not have him mistaken. [_Aside_.] We are all +liable to mistakes, sir. If you own it to be so, there needs no farther +apology. + +BELL. Nay, faith, madam, 'tis a pleasant one, and worth your hearing. +Expecting a friend last night, at his lodgings, till 'twas late, my +intimacy with him gave me the freedom of his bed. He not coming home all +night, a letter was delivered to me by a servant in the morning. Upon +the perusal I found the contents so charming that I could think of +nothing all day but putting 'em in practice, until just now, the first +time I ever looked upon the superscription, I am the most surprised in +the world to find it directed to Mr. Vainlove. Gad, madam, I ask you a +million of pardons, and will make you any satisfaction. + +LAET. I am discovered. And either Vainlove is not guilty, or he has +handsomely excused him. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. You appear concerned, madam. + +LAET. I hope you are a gentleman;--and since you are privy to a weak +woman's failing, won't turn it to the prejudice of her reputation. You +look as if you had more honour-- + +BELL. And more love, or my face is a false witness and deserves to be +pilloried. No, by heaven, I swear-- + +LAET. Nay, don't swear if you'd have me believe you; but promise-- + +BELL. Well, I promise. A promise is so cold: give me leave to swear, by +those eyes, those killing eyes, by those healing lips. Oh! press the +soft charm close to mine, and seal 'em up for ever. + +LAET. Upon that condition. [_He kisses her_.] + +BELL. Eternity was in that moment. One more, upon any condition! + +LAET. Nay, now--I never saw anything so agreeably impudent. [_Aside_.] +Won't you censure me for this, now?--but 'tis to buy your silence. +[_Kiss_.] Oh, but what am I doing! + +BELL. Doing! No tongue can express it--not thy own, nor anything, but +thy lips. I am faint with the excess of bliss. Oh, for love-sake, lead +me anywhither, where I may lie down --quickly, for I'm afraid I shall +have a fit. + +LAET. Bless me! What fit? + +BELL. Oh, a convulsion--I feel the symptoms. + +LAET. Does it hold you long? I'm afraid to carry you into my chamber. + +BELL. Oh, no: let me lie down upon the bed; the fit will be soon over. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + +SCENE: _St. James's Park_. + +ARAMINTA _and_ BELINDA _meeting_. + +BELIN. Lard, my dear, I am glad I have met you; I have been at the +Exchange since, and am so tired-- + +ARAM. Why, what's the matter? + +BELIN. Oh the most inhuman, barbarous hackney-coach! I am jolted to a +jelly. Am I not horribly touzed? [_Pulls out a pocket-glass_.] + +ARAM. Your head's a little out of order. + +BELIN. A little! O frightful! What a furious phiz I have! O most +rueful! Ha, ha, ha. O Gad, I hope nobody will come this way, till I +have put myself a little in repair. Ah! my dear, I have seen such unhewn +creatures since. Ha, ha, ha. I can't for my soul help thinking that I +look just like one of 'em. Good dear, pin this, and I'll tell you--very +well--so, thank you, my dear--but as I was telling you--pish, this is the +untowardest lock--so, as I was telling you--how d'ye like me now? +Hideous, ha? Frightful still? Or how? + +ARAM. No, no; you're very well as can be. + +BELIN. And so--but where did I leave off, my dear? I was telling you-- + +ARAM. You were about to tell me something, child, but you left off +before you began. + +BELIN. Oh; a most comical sight: a country squire, with the equipage of +a wife and two daughters, came to Mrs. Snipwel's shop while I was +there--but oh Gad! two such unlicked cubs! + +ARAM. I warrant, plump, cherry-cheeked country girls. + +BELIN. Ay, o' my conscience, fat as barn-door fowl: but so bedecked, you +would have taken 'em for Friesland hens, with their feathers growing the +wrong way. O such outlandish creatures! Such Tramontanae, and +foreigners to the fashion, or anything in practice! I had not patience +to behold. I undertook the modelling of one of their fronts, the more +modern structure-- + +ARAM. Bless me, cousin; why would you affront anybody so? They might be +gentlewomen of a very good family-- + +BELIN. Of a very ancient one, I dare swear, by their dress. Affront! +pshaw, how you're mistaken! The poor creature, I warrant, was as full of +curtsies, as if I had been her godmother. The truth on't is, I did +endeavour to make her look like a Christian--and she was sensible of it, +for she thanked me, and gave me two apples, piping hot, out of her under- +petticoat pocket. Ha, ha, ha: and t'other did so stare and gape, I +fancied her like the front of her father's hall; her eyes were the two +jut-windows, and her mouth the great door, most hospitably kept open for +the entertainment of travelling flies. + +ARAM. So then, you have been diverted. What did they buy? + +BELIN. Why, the father bought a powder-horn, and an almanac, and a comb- +case; the mother, a great fruz-towr, and a fat amber necklace; the +daughters only tore two pairs of kid-leather gloves, with trying 'em on. +O Gad, here comes the fool that dined at my Lady Freelove's t'other day. + + + +SCENE IX. + + +[_To them_] SIR JOSEPH _and_ BLUFFE. + +ARAM. May be he may not know us again. + +BELIN. We'll put on our masks to secure his ignorance. [_They put on +their masks_.] + +SIR JO. Nay, Gad, I'll pick up; I'm resolved to make a night on't. I'll +go to Alderman Fondlewife by and by, and get fifty pieces more from him. +Adslidikins, bully, we'll wallow in wine and women. Why, this same +Madeira wine has made me as light as a grasshopper. Hist, hist, bully, +dost thou see those tearers? [_Sings_.] Look you what here is--look you +what here is--toll--loll--dera--toll--loll--agad, t'other glass of +Madeira, and I durst have attacked 'em in my own proper person, without +your help. + +BLUFF. Come on then, knight. But do you know what to say to them? + +SIR JO. Say: pooh, pox, I've enough to say--never fear it--that is, if I +can but think on't: truth is, I have but a treacherous memory. + +BELIN. O frightful! cousin, what shall we do? These things come towards +us. + +ARAM. No matter. I see Vainlove coming this way--and, to confess my +failing, I am willing to give him an opportunity of making his peace with +me--and to rid me of these coxcombs, when I seem opprest with 'em, will +be a fair one. + +BLUFF. Ladies, by these hilts you are well met. + +ARAM. We are afraid not. + +BLUFF. What says my pretty little knapsack carrier. [_To_ BELINDA.] + +BELIN. O monstrous filthy fellow! good slovenly Captain Huffe, Bluffe +(what is your hideous name?) be gone: you stink of brandy and tobacco, +most soldier-like. Foh. [_Spits_.] + +SIR JO. Now am I slap-dash down in the mouth, and have not one word to +say! [_Aside_.] + +ARAM. I hope my fool has not confidence enough to be troublesome. +[_Aside_.] + +SIR JO. Hem! Pray, madam, which way is the wind? + +ARAM. A pithy question. Have you sent your wits for a venture, sir, +that you enquire? + +SIR JO. Nay, now I'm in, I can prattle like a magpie. [_Aside_.] + + + +SCENE X. + + +[_To them_] SHARPER _and_ VAINLOVE _at some distance_. + +BELIN. Dear Araminta, I'm tired. + +ARAM. 'Tis but pulling off our masks, and obliging Vainlove to know us. +I'll be rid of my fool by fair means.--Well, Sir Joseph, you shall see my +face; but, be gone immediately. I see one that will be jealous, to find +me in discourse with you. Be discreet. No reply; but away. [_Unmasks_.] + +SIR JO. The great fortune, that dined at my Lady Freelove's! Sir +Joseph, thou art a made man. Agad, I'm in love up to the ears. But I'll +be discreet, and hushed. [_Aside_.] + +BLUFF. Nay, by the world, I'll see your face. + +BELIN. You shall. [_Unmasks_.] + +SHARP. Ladies, your humble servant. We were afraid you would not have +given us leave to know you. + +ARAM. We thought to have been private. But we find fools have the same +advantage over a face in a mask that a coward has while the sword is in +the scabbard, so were forced to draw in our own defence. + +BLUFF. My blood rises at that fellow: I can't stay where he is; and I +must not draw in the park. [_To_ SIR JOSEPH.] + +SIR JO. I wish I durst stay to let her know my lodging. + + + +SCENE XI. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, SHARPER. + +SHARP. There is in true beauty, as in courage, somewhat which narrow +souls cannot dare to admire. And see, the owls are fled, as at the break +of day. + +BELIN. Very courtly. I believe Mr. Vainlove has not rubbed his eyes +since break of day neither, he looks as if he durst not approach. Nay, +come, cousin, be friends with him. I swear he looks so very simply--ha, +ha, ha. Well, a lover in the state of separation from his mistress is +like a body without a soul. Mr. Vainlove, shall I be bound for your good +behaviour for the future? + +VAIN. Now must I pretend ignorance equal to hers, of what she knows as +well as I. [_Aside_.] Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find +most goodness to forgive. But, madam, I hope I shall prove of a temper +not to abuse mercy by committing new offences. + +ARAM. So cold! [_Aside_.] + +BELIN. I have broke the ice for you, Mr. Vainlove, and so I leave you. +Come, Mr. Sharper, you and I will take a turn, and laugh at the +vulgar--both the great vulgar and the small. O Gad! I have a great +passion for Cowley. Don't you admire him? + +SHARP. Oh, madam! he was our English Horace. + +BELIN. Ah so fine! so extremely fine! So everything in the world that I +like--O Lord, walk this way--I see a couple; I'll give you their history. + + + +SCENE XII. + + +ARAMINTA, VAINLOVE. + +VAIN. I find, madam, the formality of the law must be observed, though +the penalty of it be dispensed with, and an offender must plead to his +arraignment, though he has his pardon in his pocket. + +ARAM. I'm amazed! This insolence exceeds t'other; whoever has +encouraged you to this assurance, presuming upon the easiness of my +temper, has much deceived you, and so you shall find. + +VAIN. Hey day! Which way now? Here's fine doubling. [_Aside_.] + +ARAM. Base man! Was it not enough to affront me with your saucy +passion? + +VAIN. You have given that passion a much kinder epithet than saucy, in +another place. + +ARAM. Another place! Some villainous design to blast my honour. But +though thou hadst all the treachery and malice of thy sex, thou canst not +lay a blemish on my fame. No, I have not erred in one favourable thought +of mankind. How time might have deceived me in you, I know not; my +opinion was but young, and your early baseness has prevented its growing +to a wrong belief. Unworthy and ungrateful! be gone, and never see me +more. + +VAIN. Did I dream? or do I dream? Shall I believe my eyes, or ears? The +vision is here still. Your passion, madam, will admit of no farther +reasoning; but here's a silent witness of your acquaintance. [_Takes our +the letter_, _and offers it_: _she snatches it_, _and throws it away_.] + +ARAM. There's poison in everything you touch. Blisters will follow-- + +VAIN. That tongue, which denies what the hands have done. + +ARAM. Still mystically senseless and impudent; I find I must leave the +place. + +VAIN. No, madam, I'm gone. She knows her name's to it, which she will +be unwilling to expose to the censure of the first finder. + +ARAM. Woman's obstinacy made me blind to what woman's curiosity now +tempts me to see. [_Takes up the letter_.] + + + +SCENE XIII. + + +BELINDA, SHARPER. + +BELIN. Nay, we have spared nobody, I swear. Mr. Sharper, you're a pure +man; where did you get this excellent talent of railing? + +SHARP. Faith, madam, the talent was born with me:--I confess I have +taken care to improve it, to qualify me for the society of ladies. + +BELIN. Nay, sure, railing is the best qualification in a woman's man. + + + +SCENE XIV. + + +[_To them_] FOOTMAN. + +SHARP. The second best, indeed, I think. + +BELIN. How now, Pace? Where's my cousin? + +FOOT. She's not very well, madam, and has sent to know if your ladyship +would have the coach come again for you? + +BELIN. O Lord, no, I'll go along with her. Come, Mr. Sharper. + + + +SCENE XV. + + +SCENE: _A chamber in Fondlewife's house_. + +LAETITIA and BELLMOUR, his cloak, hat, etc., lying loose about the +chamber. + +BELL. Here's nobody, nor no noise--'twas nothing but your fears. + +LAET. I durst have sworn I had heard my monster's voice. I swear I was +heartily frightened; feel how my heart beats. + +BELL. 'Tis an alarm to love--come in again, and let us-- + +FOND. [_Without_.] Cocky, Cocky, where are you, Cocky? I'm come home. + +LAET. Ah! There he is. Make haste, gather up your things. + +FOND. Cocky, Cocky, open the door. + +BELL. Pox choke him, would his horns were in his throat. My patch, my +patch. [_Looking about_, _and gathering up his things_.] + +LAET. My jewel, art thou there?--No matter for your patch.--You s'an't +tum in, Nykin--run into my chamber, quickly, quickly--You s'an't tum in. + +FOND. Nay, prithee, dear, i'feck I'm in haste. + +LAET. Then I'll let you in. [_Opens the door_.] + + + +SCENE XVI. + + +LAETITIA, FONDLEWIFE, SIR JOSEPH. + +FOND. Kiss, dear--I met the master of the ship by the way, and I must +have my papers of accounts out of your cabinet. + +LAET. Oh, I'm undone! [_Aside_.] + +SIR JO. Pray, first let me have fifty pound, good Alderman, for I'm in +haste. + +FOND. A hundred has already been paid by your order. Fifty? I have the +sum ready in gold in my closet. + + + +SCENE XVII. + + +LAETITIA, SIR JOSEPH. + +SIR JO. Agad, it's a curious, fine, pretty rogue; I'll speak to +her.--Pray, Madam, what news d'ye hear? + +LAET. Sir, I seldom stir abroad. [_Walks about in disorder_.] + +SIR JO. I wonder at that, Madam, for 'tis most curious fine weather. + +LAET. Methinks 't has been very ill weather. + +SIR JO. As you say, madam, 'tis pretty bad weather, and has been so a +great while. + + + +SCENE XVIII. + + +[_To them_] FONDLEWIFE. + +FOND. Here are fifty pieces in this purse, Sir Joseph; if you will tarry +a moment, till I fetch my papers, I'll wait upon you down-stairs. + +LAET. Ruined, past redemption! what shall I do--ha! this fool may be of +use. (Aside.) [_As_ FONDLEWIFE _is going into the chamber_, _she runs +to_ SIR JOSEPH, _almost pushes him down_, _and cries out_.] Stand off, +rude ruffian. Help me, my dear. O bless me! Why will you leave me +alone with such a Satyr? + +FOND. Bless us! What's the matter? What's the matter? + +LAET. Your back was no sooner turned, but like a lion he came open +mouthed upon me, and would have ravished a kiss from me by main force. + +SIR JO. O Lord! Oh, terrible! Ha, ha, ha. Is your wife mad, Alderman? + +LAET. Oh! I'm sick with the fright; won't you take him out of my sight? + +FOND. O traitor! I'm astonished. O bloody-minded traitor! + +SIR JO. Hey-day! Traitor yourself. By the Lord Harry, I was in most +danger of being ravished, if you go to that. + +FOND. Oh, how the blasphemous wretch swears! Out of my house, thou son +of the whore of Babylon; offspring of Bel and the Dragon.--Bless us! +ravish my wife! my Dinah! Oh, Shechemite! Begone, I say. + +SIR JO. Why, the devil's in the people, I think. + + + +SCENE XIX. + + +LAETITIA, FONDLEWIFE. + +LAET. Oh! won't you follow, and see him out of doors, my dear? + +FOND. I'll shut this door to secure him from coming back--Give me the +key of your cabinet, Cocky. Ravish my wife before my face? I warrant +he's a Papist in his heart at least, if not a Frenchman. + +LAET. What can I do now! (Aside.) Oh! my dear, I have been in such a +fright, that I forgot to tell you, poor Mr. Spintext has a sad fit of the +colic, and is forced to lie down upon our bed--you'll disturb him; I can +tread softlier. + +FOND. Alack, poor man--no, no--you don't know the papers--I won't +disturb him; give me the key. [_She gives him the key_, _goes to the +chamber door and speaks aloud_.] + +LAET. 'Tis nobody but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. Spintext, lie still on your +stomach; lying on your stomach will ease you of the colic. + +FOND. Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don't let me disturb you. + + + +SCENE XX. + + +LAETITIA _alone_. + +LAET. Sure, when he does not see his face, he won't discover him. Dear +fortune, help me but this once, and I'll never run in thy debt again. But +this opportunity is the Devil. + + + +SCENE XXI. + + +FONDLEWIFE _returns with Papers_. + +FOND. Good lack! good lack! I profess the poor man is in great torment; +he lies as flat--Dear, you should heat a trencher, or a napkin.--Where's +Deborah? Let her clap some warm thing to his stomach, or chafe it with a +warm hand rather than fail. What book's this? [_Sees the book that_ +BELLMOUR _forgot_.] + +LAET. Mr. Spintext's prayer-book, dear. Pray Heaven it be a +prayer-book. [_Aside_.] + +FOND. Good man! I warrant he dropped it on purpose that you might take +it up and read some of the pious ejaculations. [_Taking up the book_.] O +bless me! O monstrous! A prayer-book? Ay, this is the devil's +paternoster. Hold, let me see: The Innocent Adultery. + +LAET. Misfortune! now all's ruined again. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. [_Peeping_]. Damned chance! If I had gone a-whoring with the +Practice of Piety in my pocket I had never been discovered. + +FOND. Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! Here's doctrine! Ay, here's +discipline! + +LAET. Dear husband, I'm amazed. Sure it is a good book, and only tends +to the speculation of sin. + +FOND. Speculation! No no; something went farther than speculation when +I was not to be let in.--Where is this apocryphal elder? I'll ferret +him. + +LAET. I'm so distracted, I can't think of a lie. [_Aside_.] + + + +SCENE XXII. + + +LAETITIA _and_ FONDLEWIFE _haling out_ BELLMOUR. + +FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, how now! Who have we +here? + +LAET. Ha! [_Shrieks as surprised_.] + +FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then brutified? Ay, I feel it +here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, I am ripe-horn-mad. But who in the +devil's name are you? Mercy on me for swearing. But-- + +LAET. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are you? What are you? + +BELL. Soh! + +LAET. In the name of the--O! Good, my dear, don't come near it; I'm +afraid 'tis the devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear. + +FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, no, I am afraid 'tis +the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, with the pox. Come Syren, speak, confess, +who is this reverend, brawny pastor. + +LAET. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I never saw this wicked man +before. + +FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems. + +LAET. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of a sheep. + +FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper clothing--woman's flesh. What, you +know nothing of him, but his fleece here! You don't love mutton? you +Magdalen unconverted. + +BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.--That is, very honourably to excuse her, +and very impudently accuse myself. [_Aside_.] + +LAET. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the heaven of your +embraces again, my dear, if ever I saw his face before. + +FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration of your impudence. Look +at him a little better; he is more modest, I warrant you, than to deny +it. Come, were you two never face to face before? Speak. + +BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think myself obliged to speak +the truth in justice to your wife.--No. + +FOND. Humph. + +LAET. No, indeed, dear. + +FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must confess. But, +what--not to be cured of the colic? Don't you know your patient, Mrs. +Quack? Oh, 'lie upon your stomach; lying upon your stomach will cure you +of the colic.' Ah! answer me, Jezebel? + +LAET. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does he think I have +nothing to do but excuse him? 'tis enough if I can clear my own innocence +to my own dear. + +BELL. By my troth, and so 'tis. I have been a little too backward; +that's the truth on't. + +FOND. Come, sir, who are you, in the first place? And what are you? + +BELL. A whore-master. + +FOND. Very concise. + +LAET. O beastly, impudent creature. + +FOND. Well, sir, and what came you hither for? + +BELL. To lie with your wife. + +FOND. Good again. A very civil person this, and I believe speaks truth. + +LAET. Oh, insupportable impudence. + +FOND. Well, sir; pray be covered--and you have--Heh! You have finished +the matter, heh? And I am, as I should be, a sort of civil perquisite to +a whore-master, called a cuckold, heh? Is it not so? Come, I'm +inclining to believe every word you say. + +BELL. Why, faith, I must confess, so I designed you; but you were a +little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindered the making of your own +fortune. + +FOND. Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once and go back of your word +you are not the person I took you for. Come, come, go on boldly.--What, +don't be ashamed of your profession.--Confess, confess; I shall love thee +the better for't. I shall, i'feck. What, dost think I don't know how to +behave myself in the employment of a cuckold, and have been three years +apprentice to matrimony? Come, come; plain dealing is a jewel. + +BELL. Well, since I see thou art a good, honest fellow, I'll confess the +whole matter to thee. + +FOND. Oh, I am a very honest fellow. You never lay with an honester +man's wife in your life. + +LAET. How my heart aches! All my comfort lies in his impudence, and +heaven be praised, he has a considerable portion. [_Aside_.] + +BELL. In short, then, I was informed of the opportunity of your absence +by my spy (for faith, honest Isaac, I have a long time designed thee this +favour). I knew Spintext was to come by your direction. But I laid a +trap for him, and procured his habit, in which I passed upon your +servants, and was conducted hither. I pretended a fit of the colic, to +excuse my lying down upon your bed; hoping that when she heard of it, her +good nature would bring her to administer remedies for my distemper. You +know what might have followed. But, like an uncivil person, you knocked +at the door before your wife was come to me. + +FOND. Ha! This is apocryphal; I may choose whether I will believe it or +no. + +BELL. That you may, faith, and I hope you won't believe a word on't--but +I can't help telling the truth, for my life. + +FOND. How! would not you have me believe you, say you? + +BELL. No; for then you must of consequence part with your wife, and +there will be some hopes of having her upon the public; then the +encouragement of a separate maintenance-- + +FOND. No, no; for that matter, when she and I part, she'll carry her +separate maintenance about her. + +LAET. Ah, cruel dear, how can you be so barbarous? You'll break my +heart, if you talk of parting. [_Cries_.] + +FOND. Ah, dissembling vermin! + +BELL. How can'st thou be so cruel, Isaac? Thou hast the heart of a +mountain-tiger. By the faith of a sincere sinner, she's innocent for me. +Go to him, madam, fling your snowy arms about his stubborn neck; bathe +his relentless face in your salt trickling tears. [_She goes and hangs +upon his neck_, _and kisses him_. BELLMOUR _kisses her hand behind_ +FONDLEWIFE'S _back_.] So, a few soft words, and a kiss, and the good man +melts. See how kind nature works, and boils over in him. + +LAET. Indeed, my dear, I was but just come down stairs, when you knocked +at the door; and the maid told me Mr. Spintext was ill of the colic upon +our bed. And won't you speak to me, cruel Nykin? Indeed, I'll die, if +you don't. + +FOND. Ah! No, no, I cannot speak, my heart's so full--I have been a +tender husband, a tender yoke-fellow; you know I have.--But thou hast +been a faithless Delilah, and the Philistines--Heh! Art thou not vile +and unclean, heh? Speak. [_Weeping_.] + +LAET. No-h. [_Sighing_.] + +FOND. Oh that I could believe thee! + +LAET. Oh, my heart will break. [_Seeming to faint_.] + +FOND. Heh, how! No, stay, stay, I will believe thee, I will. Pray bend +her forward, sir. + +LAET. Oh! oh! Where is my dear? + +FOND. Here, here; I do believe thee. I won't believe my own eyes. + +BELL. For my part, I am so charmed with the love of your turtle to you, +that I'll go and solicit matrimony with all my might and main. + +FOND. Well, well, sir; as long as I believe it, 'tis well enough. No +thanks to you, sir, for her virtue.--But, I'll show you the way out of my +house, if you please. Come, my dear. Nay, I will believe thee, I do, +i'feck. + +BELL. See the great blessing of an easy faith; opinion cannot err. + + No husband, by his wife, can be deceived; + She still is virtuous, if she's so believed. + + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE I. + + +SCENE: _The Street_. + +BELLMOUR _in fanatic habit_, SETTER, HEARTWELL, LUCY. + +BELL. Setter! Well encountered. + +SET. Joy of your return, sir. Have you made a good voyage? or have you +brought your own lading back? + +BELL. No, I have brought nothing but ballast back--made a delicious +voyage, Setter; and might have rode at anchor in the port till this time, +but the enemy surprised us--I would unrig. + +SET. I attend you, sir. + +BELL. Ha! Is it not that Heartwell at Sylvia's door? Be gone quickly, +I'll follow you--I would not be known. Pox take 'em, they stand just in +my way. + + + +SCENE II. + + +BELLMOUR, HEARTWELL, LUCY. + +HEART. I'm impatient till it be done. + +LUCY. That may be, without troubling yourself to go again for your +brother's chaplain. Don't you see that stalking form of godliness? + +HEART. O ay; he's a fanatic. + +LUCY. An executioner qualified to do your business. He has been +lawfully ordained. + +HEART. I'll pay him well, if you'll break the matter to him. + +LUCY. I warrant you.--Do you go and prepare your bride. + + + +SCENE III. + + +BELLMOUR, LUCY. + +BELL. Humph, sits the wind there? What a lucky rogue am I! Oh, what +sport will be here, if I can persuade this wench to secrecy! + +LUCY. Sir: reverend sir. + +BELL. Madam. [_Discovers himself_.] + +LUCY. Now, goodness have mercy upon me! Mr. Bellmour! is it you? + +BELL. Even I. What dost think? + +LUCY. Think! That I should not believe my eyes, and that you are not +what you seem to be. + +BELL. True. But to convince thee who I am, thou knowest my old token. +[_Kisses her_.] + +LUCY. Nay, Mr. Bellmour: O Lard! I believe you are a parson in good +earnest, you kiss so devoutly. + +BELL. Well, your business with me, Lucy? + +LUCY. I had none, but through mistake. + +BELL. Which mistake you must go through with, Lucy. Come, I know the +intrigue between Heartwell and your mistress; and you mistook me for +Tribulation Spintext, to marry 'em--Ha? are not matters in this posture? +Confess: come, I'll be faithful; I will, i'faith. What! diffide in me, +Lucy? + +LUCY. Alas-a-day! You and Mr. Vainlove, between you, have ruined my +poor mistress: you have made a gap in her reputation; and can you blame +her if she make it up with a husband? + +BELL. Well, is it as I say? + +LUCY. Well, it is then: but you'll be secret? + +BELL. Phuh, secret, ay. And to be out of thy debt, I'll trust thee with +another secret. Your mistress must not marry Heartwell, Lucy. + +LUCY. How! O Lord! + +BELL. Nay, don't be in passion, Lucy:--I'll provide a fitter husband for +her. Come, here's earnest of my good intentions for thee too; let this +mollify. [_Gives her money_.] Look you, Heartwell is my friend; and +though he be blind, I must not see him fall into the snare, and +unwittingly marry a whore. + +LUCY. Whore! I'd have you to know my mistress scorns-- + +BELL. Nay, nay: look you, Lucy; there are whores of as good quality. But +to the purpose, if you will give me leave to acquaint you with it. Do +you carry on the mistake of me: I'll marry 'em. Nay, don't pause; if you +do, I'll spoil all. I have some private reasons for what I do, which +I'll tell you within. In the meantime, I promise--and rely upon me--to +help your mistress to a husband: nay, and thee too, Lucy. Here's my +hand, I will; with a fresh assurance. [_Gives her more money_.] + +LUCY. Ah, the devil is not so cunning. You know my easy nature. Well, +for once I'll venture to serve you; but if you do deceive me, the curse +of all kind, tender-hearted women light upon you! + +BELL. That's as much as to say, the pox take me. Well, lead on. + + + +SCENE IV. + + +VAINLOVE, SHARPER, _and_ SETTER. + +SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy? + +SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you found me, and +overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry 'em. + +SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. I'll plague Heartwell when +I see him. Prithee, Frank, let's tease him; make him fret till he foam +at the mouth, and disgorge his matrimonial oath with interest. Come, +thou'rt musty-- + +SET. [_To_ SHARPER.] Sir, a word with you. [_Whispers him_.] + +VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the letter--I'm sure he tells me +truth;--but I'm not sure she told him truth: yet she was unaffectedly +concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and surprise: and so I +remember in the park. She had reason, if I wrong her. I begin to doubt. + +SHARP. Say'st thou so? + +SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master received the +letter. + +SHARP. In my conscience, like enough. + +SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I'm sure I can fish it out of her: +she's the very sluice to her lady's secrets: 'tis but setting her mill +agoing, and I can drain her of 'em all. + +SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the fault: this letter, +that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; only a trick of Sylvia in +revenge, contrived by Lucy. + +VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, sirrah? + +SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was pumping me about +how your worship's affairs stood towards Madam Araminta; as, when you had +seen her last? when you were to see her next? and, where you were to be +found at that time? and such like. + +VAIN. And where did you tell her? + +SET. In the Piazza. + +VAIN. There I received the letter--it must be so--and why did you not +find me out, to tell me this before, sot? + +SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour. + +SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no objection to the +excuse. + +VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity--if I have lost her, I deserve it. But +if confession and repentance be of force, I'll win her, or weary her into +a forgiveness. + +SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth. + + + +SCENE V. + + +SHARPER, BELLMOUR, SETTER. + +SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes. + +SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous mischief--no real fanatic can +look better pleased after a successful sermon of sedition. + +BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a jest! Speak when thou art +ready. + +SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly disappoint thy mirth: +hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much gravity as a bishop hears +venereal causes in the spiritual court. Not so much as wrinkle my face +with one smile; but let thee look simply, and laugh by thyself. + +BELL. Pshaw, no; I have a better opinion of thy wit. Gad, I defy thee. + +SHARP. Were it not loss of time you should make the experiment. But +honest Setter, here, overheard you with Lucy, and has told me all. + +BELL. Nay, then, I thank thee for not putting me out of countenance. +But, to tell you something you don't know. I got an opportunity after I +had married 'em, of discovering the cheat to Sylvia. She took it at +first, as another woman would the like disappointment; but my promise to +make her amends quickly with another husband somewhat pacified her. + +SHARP. But how the devil do you think to acquit yourself of your +promise? Will you marry her yourself? + +BELL. I have no such intentions at present. Prithee, wilt thou think a +little for me? I am sure the ingenious Mr. Setter will assist. + +SET. O Lord, sir! + +BELL. I'll leave him with you, and go shift my habit. + + + +SCENE VI. + + +SHARPER, SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, and BLUFFE. + +SHARP. Heh! Sure fortune has sent this fool hither on purpose. Setter, +stand close; seem not to observe 'em; and, hark ye. [_Whispers_.] + +BLUFF. Fear him not. I am prepared for him now, and he shall find he +might have safer roused a sleeping lion. + +SIR JO. Hush, hush! don't you see him? + +BLUFF. Show him to me. Where is he? + +SIR JO. Nay, don't speak so loud. I don't jest as I did a little while +ago. Look yonder! Agad, if he should hear the lion roar, he'd cudgel +him into an ass, and his primitive braying. Don't you remember the story +in AEsop's Fables, bully? Agad, there are good morals to be picked out +of AEsop's Fables, let me tell you that, and Reynard the Fox too. + +BLUFF. Damn your morals. + +SIR JO. Prithee, don't speak so loud. + +BLUFF. Damn your morals; I must revenge the affront done to my honour. +[_In a low voice_.] + +SIR JO. Ay; do, do, captain, if you think fitting. You may dispose of +your own flesh as you think fitting, d'ye see, but, by the Lord Harry, +I'll leave you. [_Stealing away upon his tip-toes_.] + +BLUFF. Prodigious! What, will you forsake your friend in extremity? You +can't in honour refuse to carry him a challenge. [_Almost whispering_, +_and treading softly after him_.] + +SIR JO. Prithee, what do you see in my face that looks as if I would +carry a challenge? Honour is your province, captain; take it. All the +world know me to be a knight, and a man of worship. + +SET. I warrant you, sir, I'm instructed. + +SHARP. Impossible! Araminta take a liking to a fool? [_Aloud_.] + +SET. Her head runs on nothing else, nor she can talk of nothing else. + +SHARP. I know she commanded him all the while we were in the Park; but I +thought it had been only to make Vainlove jealous. + +SIR JO. How's this! Good bully, hold your breath and let's hearken. +Agad, this must be I. + +SHARP. Death, it can't be. An oaf, an idiot, a wittal. + +SIR JO. Ay, now it's out; 'tis I, my own individual person. + +SHARP. A wretch that has flown for shelter to the lowest shrub of +mankind, and seeks protection from a blasted coward. + +SIR JO. That's you, bully back. [BLUFFE _frowns upon_ SIR JOSEPH.] + +SHARP. She has given Vainlove her promise to marry him before to-morrow +morning. Has she not? [_To_ SETTER.] + +SET. She has, sir; and I have it in charge to attend her all this +evening, in order to conduct her to the place appointed. + +SHARP. Well, I'll go and inform your master; and do you press her to +make all the haste imaginable. + + + +SCENE VII. + + +SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. + +SET. Were I a rogue now, what a noble prize could I dispose of! A +goodly pinnace, richly laden, and to launch forth under my auspicious +convoy. Twelve thousand pounds and all her rigging, besides what lies +concealed under hatches. Ha! all this committed to my care! Avaunt, +temptation! Setter, show thyself a person of worth; be true to thy +trust, and be reputed honest. Reputed honest! Hum: is that all? Ay; +for to be honest is nothing; the reputation of it is all. Reputation! +what have such poor rogues as I to do with reputation? 'tis above us; and +for men of quality, they are above it; so that reputation is even as +foolish a thing as honesty. And, for my part, if I meet Sir Joseph with +a purse of gold in his hand, I'll dispose of mine to the best advantage. + +SIR JO. Heh, heh, heh: Here 'tis for you, i'faith, Mr. Setter. Nay, +I'll take you at your word. [_Chinking a purse_.] + +SET. Sir Joseph and the captain, too! undone! undone! I'm undone, my +master's undone, my lady's undone, and all the business is undone. + +SIR JO. No, no; never fear, man; the lady's business shall be done. +What, come, Mr. Setter, I have overheard all, and to speak is but loss of +time; but if there be occasion, let these worthy gentlemen intercede for +me. [_Gives him gold_.] + +SET. O lord, sir, what d'ye mean? Corrupt my honesty? They have indeed +very persuading faces. But-- + +SIR JO. 'Tis too little, there's more, man. There, take all. Now-- + +SET. Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with you-- + +SIR JO. And how, and how, good Setter, did the little rogue look when +she talked of Sir Joseph? Did not her eyes twinkle and her mouth water? +Did not she pull up her little bubbies? And--agad, I'm so overjoyed--And +stroke down her belly? and then step aside to tie her garter when she was +thinking of her love? Heh, Setter! + +SET. Oh, yes, sir. + +SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because I'm in the lady's +favour? No matter, I'll make your peace: I know they were a little smart +upon you. But I warrant I'll bring you into the lady's good graces. + +BLUFF. Pshaw, I have petitions to show from other-guess toys than she. +Look here; these were sent me this morning. There, read. [_Shows +letters_]. That--that's a scrawl of quality. Here, here's from a +countess too. Hum--No, hold--that's from a knight's wife--she sent it me +by her husband. But here, both these are from persons of great quality. + +SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, or no quality at +all, 'tis such a damned ugly hand. [_While_ SIR JOSEPH _reads_, BLUFFE +_whispers_ SETTER.] + +SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this is so +difficult. + +BLUFF. Not at all. Don't I know him? + +SET. You'll remember the conditions? + +BLUFF. I'll give it you under my hand. In the meantime, here's earnest. +[_Gives him money_.] Come, knight, I'm capitulating with Mr. Setter for +you. + +SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I'll give thee anything but a night's +lodging. + + + +SCENE VIII. + + +SHARPER _tugging in_ HEARTWELL. + +SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with me. May be she +mayn't be within. 'Tis but to yond corner-house. + +HEART. Whither? Whither? Which corner-house. + +SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts. + +HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? (O'ons, how my heart +aches.) + +SHARP. Pshaw, thou'rt so troublesome and inquisitive. My, I'll tell +you; 'tis a young creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did +you never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia? + +HEART. Death, and hell, and marriage! My wife! [_Aside_.] + +SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that had found his +wife knowing the first night. + +HEART. Hell, and the Devil! Does he know it? But, hold; if he should +not, I were a fool to discover it. I'll dissemble, and try him. +[_Aside_.] Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of +melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief? + +SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but have their year of +probation before they are cloistered in the narrow joys of wedlock. But, +prithee, come along with me or I'll go and have the lady to myself. B'w'y +George. [_Going_.] + +HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! Death! Shall I own my +shame or wittingly let him go and whore my wife? No, that's +insupportable. O Sharper! + +SHARP. How now? + +HEART. Oh, I am married. + +SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married! + +HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married. + +SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long? + +HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married these two hours. + +SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a jest. Ha, ha, ha. + +HEART. Death! D'ye mock me? Hark ye, if either you esteem my +friendship, or your own safety--come not near that house--that corner- +house--that hot brothel. Ask no questions. + +SHARP. Mad, by this light. + +Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: +Married in haste, we may repent at leisure. + + + +SCENE IX. + + +SHARPER, SETTER. + +SET. Some by experience find these words misplaced: +At leisure married, they repent in haste. + +As I suppose my master Heartwell. + +SHARP. Here again, my Mercury! + +SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my achievements do deserve +the epithet--Mercury was a pimp too, but, though I blush to own it, at +this time, I must confess I am somewhat fallen from the dignity of my +function, and do condescend to be scandalously employed in the promotion +of vulgar matrimony. + +SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp? + +SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs depending--our +stratagem succeeded as you intended--Bluffe turns errant traitor; bribes +me to make a private conveyance of the lady to him, and put a +shame-settlement upon Sir Joseph. + +SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope-- + +SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately informed the knight of the +treachery, who has agreed seemingly to be cheated, that the captain may +be so in reality. + +SHARP. Where's the bride? + +SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a friend's house of mine. +Here's company coming; if you'll walk this way, sir, I'll tell you. + + + +SCENE X. + + +BELLMOUR, BELINDA, ARAMINTA, _and_ VAINLOVE. + +VAIN. Oh, 'twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive it? Men in madness have +a title to your pity. [_To_ ARAMINTA.] + +ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to their senses. + +VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon. + +ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, how insolent would +a real pardon make you! But there's no need to forgive what is not worth +my anger. + +BELIN. O' my conscience, I could find in my heart to marry thee, purely +to be rid of thee--at least thou art so troublesome a lover, there's +hopes thou'lt make a more than ordinary quiet husband. [_To_ BELLMOUR.] + +BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye? + +BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the _mode_ have made marriage a mere +French dish. + +BELL. I hope there's no French sauce. [_Aside_.] + +BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, your courtship, +one would think you meant a noble entertainment--but when we come to +feed, 'tis all froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, +which have been I know not how many times warmed for other company, and +at last served up cold to the wife. + +BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not afford one warm +dish for the wife of his bosom. But you timorous virgins form a dreadful +chimaera of a husband, as of a creature contrary to that soft, humble, +pliant, easy thing, a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in +opposition to the pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage, +is but as the music in the play-house, until the curtain's drawn; but +that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure. + +BELIN. Oh, foh,--no: rather courtship to marriage, as a very witty +prologue to a very dull play. + + + +SCENE XI. + + +[_To them_] SHARPER. + +SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you'll bring the ladies, make haste to +Sylvia's lodgings, before Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath. + +BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge yourself upon +Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. [_To_ BELINDA.] + +BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast. + +ARAM. 'Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never been at our house +since. + +BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that corner-house, and +I'll tell you by the way what may divert and surprise you. + + + +SCENE XII. + + +SCENE: _Sylvia's Lodgings_. + +HEARTWELL _and_ BOY. + +HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid? + +BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them out--Setter, I think they +called him. + +HEART. So-h--that precious pimp too--damned, damned strumpet! could she +not contain herself on her wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh, +cursed state! how wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life. + + We hope to find + That help which Nature meant in womankind, + To man that supplemental self-designed; + But proves a burning caustic when applied, + And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide + The bone when broken, than when made a bride. + + + +SCENE XIII. + + +[_To him_] BELLMOUR, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, ARAMINTA. + +BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the chimes of verse were +past, when once the doleful marriage-knell was rung. + +HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [VAINLOVE _and_ ARAMINTA +_talk apart_.] + +BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, sir. + +HEART. 'Tis not in thy nature to give me joy. A woman can as soon give +immortality. + +BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when they are married. + +BELL. That they are fit for no company but their wives. + +BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I swear, at the month's +end, you shall hardly find a married man that will do a civil thing to +his wife, or say a civil thing to anybody else. How he looks already, +ha, ha, ha. + +BELL. Ha, ha, ha! + +HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For you, sir, I shall find +a time; but take off your wasp here, or the clown may grow boisterous; I +have a fly-flap. + +BELIN. You have occasion for't, your wife has been blown upon. + +BELL. That's home. + +HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my vexation, or +anything, but another woman. You've racked my patience; begone, or by-- + +BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil--thou wilt not draw upon a woman? + +VAIN. What's the matter? + +ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him? + +BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced. + +VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too much. 'Tis all serious to +him. + +BELIN. Nay, I swear, I begin to pity him myself. + +HEART. Damn your pity!--but let me be calm a little. How have I +deserved this of you? any of ye? Sir, have I impaired the honour of your +house, promised your sister marriage, and whored her? Wherein have I +injured you? Did I bring a physician to your father when he lay +expiring, and endeavour to prolong his life, and you one and twenty? +Madam, have I had an opportunity with you and baulked it? Did you ever +offer me the favour that I refused it? Or-- + +BELIN. Oh foh! what does the filthy fellow mean? Lord, let me be gone. + +ARAM. Hang me, if I pity you; you are right enough served. + +BELL. This is a little scurrilous though. + +VAIN. Nay, 'tis a sore of your own scratching--well, George? + +HEART. You are the principal cause of all my present ills. If Sylvia +had not been your mistress, my wife might have been honest. + +VAIN. And if Sylvia had not been your wife, my mistress might have been +just. There, we are even. But have a good heart, I heard of your +misfortune, and come to your relief. + +HEART. When execution's over, you offer a reprieve. + +VAIN. What would you give? + +HEART. Oh! Anything, everything, a leg or two, or an arm; nay, I would +be divorced from my virility to be divorced from my wife. + + + +SCENE XIV. + + +[_To them_] SHARPER. + +VAIN. Faith, that's a sure way: but here's one can sell you freedom +better cheap. + +SHARP. Vainlove, I have been a kind of a godfather to you yonder. I +have promised and vowed some things in your name which I think you are +bound to perform. + +VAIN. No signing to a blank, friend. + +SHARP. No, I'll deal fairly with you. 'Tis a full and free discharge to +Sir Joseph Wittal and Captain Bluffe; for all injuries whatsoever, done +unto you by them, until the present date hereof. How say you? + +VAIN. Agreed. + +SHARP. Then, let me beg these ladies to wear their masks, a moment. Come +in, gentlemen and ladies. + +HEART. What the devil's all this to me? + +VAIN. Patience. + + + +SCENE the Last + + +[_To them_] SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE, SYLVIA, LUCY, SETTER. + +BLUFF. All injuries whatsoever, Mr. Sharper. + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, whatsoever, Captain, stick to that; whatsoever. + +SHARP. 'Tis done, these gentlemen are witnesses to the general release. + +VAIN. Ay, ay, to this instant moment. I have passed an act of oblivion. + +BLUFF. 'Tis very generous, sir, since I needs must own-- + +SIR JO. No, no, Captain, you need not own, heh, heh, heh. 'Tis I must +own-- + +BLUFF.--That you are over-reached too, ha, ha, ha, only a little art +military used--only undermined, or so, as shall appear by the fair +Araminta, my wife's permission. Oh, the devil, cheated at last! [LUCY +_unmasks_.] + +SIR JO. Only a little art-military trick, captain, only countermined, or +so. Mr. Vainlove, I suppose you know whom I have got--now, but all's +forgiven. + +VAIN. I know whom you have not got; pray ladies convince him. [ARAM. +_and_ BELIN. _unmask_.] + +SIR JO. Ah! oh Lord, my heart aches. Ah! Setter, a rogue of all sides. + +SHARP. Sir Joseph, you had better have pre-engaged this gentleman's +pardon: for though Vainlove be so generous to forgive the loss of his +mistress, I know not how Heartwell may take the loss of his wife. [SYLVIA +_unmasks_.] + +HEART. My wife! By this light 'tis she, the very cockatrice. O +Sharper! Let me embrace thee. But art thou sure she is really married +to him? + +SET. Really and lawfully married, I am witness. + +SHARP. Bellmour will unriddle to you. [HEARTWELL _goes to_ BELLMOUR.] + +SIR JO. Pray, madam, who are you? For I find you and I are like to be +better acquainted. + +SYLV. The worst of me is, that I am your wife-- + +SHARP. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as you fear. A fine +lady, and a lady of very good quality. + +SIR JO. Thanks to my knighthood, she's a lady-- + +VAIN. That deserves a fool with a better title. Pray use her as my +relation, or you shall hear on't. + +BLUFF. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse? + +SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected accordingly. Well, +honest Lucy, fare thee well. I think, you and I have been play-fellows +off and on, any time this seven years. + +LUCY. Hold your prating. I'm thinking what vocation I shall follow +while my spouse is planting laurels in the wars. + +BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I plant laurels for my +head abroad, I may find the branches sprout at home. + +HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank thee. And I cannot in +gratitude (for I see which way thou art going) see thee fall into the +same snare out of which thou hast delivered me. + +BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but there is a +fatality in marriage, for I find I'm resolute. + +HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon you. For my part, I +have once escaped; and when I wed again, may she be--ugly, as an old +bawd. + +VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid-- + +BELL. Wanton, as a young widow-- + +SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife. + +HEART. Agreed. + +BELL. Well; 'midst of these dreadful denunciations, and notwithstanding +the warning and example before me, I commit myself to lasting durance. + +BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. [_Giving her hand_.] + +BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance? + +VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing? + +ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of our friend's +experience first. + +BELL. O' my conscience she dares not consent, for fear he should recant. +[_Aside_.] Well, we shall have your company to church in the morning. +May be it may get you an appetite to see us fall to before you. Setter, +did not you tell me?-- + +SET. They're at the door: I'll call 'em in. + + + +A DANCE. + + +BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. Come take your fellow- +travellers. Old George, I'm sorry to see thee still plod on alone. + +HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling bells made proud, +The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud. +A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds, +And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields. +But, oh-- +What rugged ways attend the noon of life! +Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife, +What pain we tug that galling load, a wife. +All coursers the first heat with vigour run; +But 'tis with whip and spur the race is won. + +[_Exeunt Omnes_.] + + + + +EPILOGUE. +Spoken by MRS. BARRY. + + +As a rash girl, who will all hazards run, +And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone, +Soon as her curiosity is over, +Would give the world she could her toy recover, +So fares it with our poet; and I'm sent +To tell you he already does repent: +Would you were all as forward to keep Lent. +Now the deed's done, the giddy thing has leisure +To think o' th' sting, that's in the tail of pleasure. +Methinks I hear him in consideration: +What will the world say? Where's my reputation? +Now that's at stake. No, fool, 'tis out o' fashion. +If loss of that should follow want of wit, +How many undone men were in the pit! +Why that's some comfort to an author's fears, +If he's an ass, he will be tryed by's peers. +But hold, I am exceeding my commission: +My business here was humbly to petition; +But we're so used to rail on these occasions, +I could not help one trial of your patience: +For 'tis our way, you know, for fear o' th' worst, +To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first. +How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected? +I swear, young Bays within is so dejected, +'Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him? +But then you cruel critics would so maul him! +Yet may be you'll encourage a beginner; +But how? Just as the devil does a sinner. +Women and wits are used e'en much at one, +You gain your end, and damn 'em when you've done. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD BACHELOR*** + + +******* This file should be named 1192.txt or 1192.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/1/9/1192 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/old/1192.zip b/old/1192.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..58e4965 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1192.zip diff --git a/old/oldba10.txt b/old/oldba10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1eb8412 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/oldba10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4275 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve +#2 in our series by William Congreve + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Old Bachelor + +by William Congreve + +February, 1998 [Etext #1192] + + +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve +******This file should be named oldba10.txt or oldba10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, oldba11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, oldba10a.txt. + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk, from the 1895 Methuen and Co edition. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1997 for a total of 1000+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 100 billion Etexts given away. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +The Old Bachelor + +by William Congreve + + + + +Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria curru, +Exanimat lentus spectator; sedulus inflat: +Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum +Subruit, and reficit. + +HORAT. Epist. I. lib. ii. + + + +To the Right Honourable Charles, Lord Clifford of Lanesborough, +etc. + + +My Lord,--It is with a great deal of pleasure that I lay hold on +this first occasion which the accidents of my life have given me of +writing to your lordship: for since at the same time I write to +all the world, it will be a means of publishing (what I would have +everybody know) the respect and duty which I owe and pay to you. I +have so much inclination to be yours that I need no other +engagement. But the particular ties by which I am bound to your +lordship and family have put it out of my power to make you any +compliment, since all offers of myself will amount to no more than +an honest acknowledgment, and only shew a willingness in me to be +grateful. + +I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to be +your lordship's servant, that it might be more my merit; not that I +would avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my own choice to +run me into the debt: that I might have it to boast, I had +distinguished a man to whom I would be glad to be obliged, even +without the hopes of having it in my power ever to make him a +return. + +It is impossible for me to come near your lordship in any kind and +not to receive some favour; and while in appearance I am only +making an acknowledgment (with the usual underhand dealing of the +world) I am at the same time insinuating my own interest. I cannot +give your lordship your due, without tacking a bill of my own +privileges. 'Tis true, if a man never committed a folly, he would +never stand in need of a protection. But then power would have +nothing to do, and good nature no occasion to show itself; and +where those qualities are, 'tis pity they should want objects to +shine upon. I must confess this is no reason why a man should do +an idle thing, nor indeed any good excuse for it when done; yet it +reconciles the uses of such authority and goodness to the +necessities of our follies, and is a sort of poetical logic, which +at this time I would make use of, to argue your lordship into a +protection of this play. It is the first offence I have committed +in this kind, or indeed, in any kind of poetry, though not the +first made public, and therefore I hope will the more easily be +pardoned. But had it been acted, when it was first written, more +might have been said in its behalf: ignorance of the town and +stage would then have been excuses in a young writer, which now +almost four years' experience will scarce allow of. Yet I must +declare myself sensible of the good nature of the town, in +receiving this play so kindly, with all its faults, which I must +own were, for the most part, very industriously covered by the care +of the players; for I think scarce a character but received all the +advantage it would admit of from the justness of the action. + +As for the critics, my lord, I have nothing to say to, or against, +any of them of any kind: from those who make just exceptions, to +those who find fault in the wrong place. I will only make this +general answer in behalf of my play (an answer which Epictetus +advises every man to make for himself to his censurers), viz.: +'That if they who find some faults in it, were as intimate with it +as I am, they would find a great many more.' This is a confession, +which I needed not to have made; but however, I can draw this use +from it to my own advantage: that I think there are no faults in +it but what I do know; which, as I take it, is the first step to an +amendment. + +Thus I may live in hopes (sometime or other) of making the town +amends; but you, my lord, I never can, though I am ever your +lordship's most obedient and most humble servant, + +WILL. CONGREVE. + + + +To Mr. Congreve. + + + +When virtue in pursuit of fame appears, +And forward shoots the growth beyond the years. +We timely court the rising hero's cause, +And on his side the poet wisely draws, +Bespeaking him hereafter by applause. +The days will come, when we shall all receive +Returning interest from what now we give, +Instructed and supported by that praise +And reputation which we strive to raise. +Nature so coy, so hardly to be wooed, +Flies, like a mistress, but to be pursued. +O Congreve! boldly follow on the chase: +She looks behind and wants thy strong embrace: +She yields, she yields, surrenders all her charms, +Do you but force her gently to your arms: +Such nerves, such graces, in your lines appear, +As you were made to be her ravisher. +Dryden has long extended his command, +By right divine, quite through the muses' land, +Absolute lord; and holding now from none, +But great Apollo, his undoubted crown. +That empire settled, and grown old in power +Can wish for nothing but a successor: +Not to enlarge his limits, but maintain +Those provinces, which he alone could gain. +His eldest Wycherly, in wise retreat, +Thought it not worth his quiet to be great. +Loose, wand'ring Etherege, in wild pleasures tost, +And foreign int'rests, to his hopes long lost: +Poor Lee and Otway dead! Congreve appears, +The darling, and last comfort of his years. +May'st thou live long in thy great master's smiles, +And growing under him, adorn these isles. +But when--when part of him (be that but late) +His body yielding must submit to fate, +Leaving his deathless works and thee behind +(The natural successor of his mind), +Then may'st thou finish what he has begun: +Heir to his merit, be in fame his son. +What thou hast done, shews all is in thy pow'r, +And to write better, only must write more. +'Tis something to be willing to commend; +But my best praise is, that I am your friend, + +THO. SOUTHERNE. + + + +To Mr. Congreve. + + + +The danger's great in these censorious days, +When critics are so rife to venture praise: +When the infectious and ill-natured brood +Behold, and damn the work, because 'tis good, +And with a proud, ungenerous spirit, try +To pass an ostracism on poetry. +But you, my friend, your worth does safely bear +Above their spleen; you have no cause for fear; +Like a well-mettled hawk, you took your flight +Quite out of reach, and almost out of sight. +As the strong sun, in a fair summer's day, +You rise, and drive the mists and clouds away, +The owls and bats, and all the birds of prey. +Each line of yours, like polished steel's so hard, +In beauty safe, it wants no other guard. +Nature herself's beholden to your dress, +Which though still like, much fairer you express. +Some vainly striving honour to obtain, +Leave to their heirs the traffic of their brain: +Like China under ground, the ripening ware, +In a long time, perhaps grows worth our care. +But you now reap the fame, so well you've sown; +The planter tastes his fruit to ripeness grown. +As a fair orange-tree at once is seen +Big with what's ripe, yet springing still with green, +So at one time, my worthy friend appears, +With all the sap of youth, and weight of years. +Accept my pious love, as forward zeal, +Which though it ruins me I can't conceal: +Exposed to censure for my weak applause, +I'm pleased to suffer in so just a cause; +And though my offering may unworthy prove, +Take, as a friend, the wishes of my love. + +J. MARSH. + + + +To Mr. Congreve, on his play called The Old Bachelor. + + + +Wit, like true gold, refined from all allay, +Immortal is, and never can decay: +'Tis in all times and languages the same, +Nor can an ill translation quench the flame: +For, though the form and fashion don't remain, +The intrinsic value still it will retain. +Then let each studied scene be writ with art, +And judgment sweat to form the laboured part. +Each character be just, and nature seem: +Without th' ingredient, wit, 'tis all but phlegm: +For that's the soul, which all the mass must move, +And wake our passions into grief or love. +But you, too bounteous, sow your wit so thick, +We are surprised, and know not where to pick; +And while with clapping we are just to you, +Ourselves we injure, and lose something new. +What mayn't we then, great youth, of thee presage, +Whose art and wit so much transcend thy age? +How wilt thou shine at thy meridian height, +Who, at thy rising, giv'st so vast a light? +When Dryden dying shall the world deceive, +Whom we immortal, as his works, believe, +Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage, +Adorn and entertain the coming age. + +BEVIL. HIGGONS. + + + +PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR THE OLD BACHELOR. +Written by the Lord Falkland. + + + +Most authors on the stage at first appear +Like widows' bridegrooms, full of doubt and fear: +They judge, from the experience of the dame, +How hard a task it is to quench her flame; +And who falls short of furnishing a course +Up to his brawny predecessor's force, +With utmost rage from her embraces thrown, +Remains convicted as an empty drone. +Thus often, to his shame, a pert beginner +Proves in the end a miserable sinner. +As for our youngster, I am apt to doubt him, +With all the vigour of his youth about him; +But he, more sanguine, trusts in one and twenty, +And impudently hopes he shall content you: +For though his bachelor be worn and cold, +He thinks the young may club to help the old, +And what alone can be achieved by neither, +Is often brought about by both together. +The briskest of you all have felt alarms, +Finding the fair one prostitute her charms +With broken sighs, in her old fumbler's arms: +But for our spark, he swears he'll ne'er be jealous +Of any rivals, but young lusty fellows. +Faith, let him try his chance, and if the slave, +After his bragging, prove a washy knave, +May he be banished to some lonely den +And never more have leave to dip his pen. +But if he be the champion he pretends, +Both sexes sure will join to be his friends, +For all agree, where all can have their ends. +And you must own him for a man of might, +If he holds out to please you the third night. + + + +PROLOGUE. +Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle. + + + +How this vile world is changed! In former days +Prologues were serious speeches before plays, +Grave, solemn things, as graces are to feasts, +Where poets begged a blessing from their guests. +But now no more like suppliants we come; +A play makes war, and prologue is the drum. +Armed with keen satire and with pointed wit, +We threaten you who do for judges sit, +To save our plays, or else we'll damn your pit. +But for your comfort, it falls out to-day, +We've a young author and his first-born play; +So, standing only on his good behaviour, +He's very civil, and entreats your favour. +Not but the man has malice, would he show it, +But on my conscience he's a bashful poet; +You think that strange--no matter, he'll outgrow it. +Well, I'm his advocate: by me he prays you +(I don't know whether I shall speak to please you), +He prays--O bless me! what shall I do now? +Hang me if I know what he prays, or how! +And 'twas the prettiest prologue as he wrote it! +Well, the deuce take me, if I han't forgot it. +O Lord, for heav'n's sake excuse the play, +Because, you know, if it be damned to-day, +I shall be hanged for wanting what to say. +For my sake then--but I'm in such confusion, +I cannot stay to hear your resolution. [Runs off] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + + +MEN. + +HEARTWELL, a surly old bachelor, pretending to slight women, +secretly in love with Silvia--Mr. Betterton. +BELLMOUR, in love with Belinda--Mr. Powell +VAINLOVE, capricious in his love; in love with Araminta--Mr. +Williams +SHARPER--Mr. Verbruggen +SIR JOSEPH WITTOL--Mr. Bowen +CAPTAIN BLUFFE--Mr. Haines. +FONDLEWIFE, a banker--Mr. Dogget +SETTER, a pimp--Mr Underhill +SERVANT to Fondlewife. + +WOMEN. + +ARAMINTA, in love with Vainlove--Mrs. Bracegirdle +BELINDA, her cousin, an affected lady, in love with Bellmour--Mrs. +Mountfort +LAETITIA, wife to Fondlewife--Mrs. Barry +SYLVIA, Vainlove's forsaken mistress--Mrs. Bowman +LUCY, her maid--Mrs. Leigh +BETTY +BOY and FOOTMEN. + +SCENE: London. + + + +THE OLD BACHELOR: ACT I.--SCENE I. + + + +SCENE: The Street. + +BELLMOUR and VAINLOVE meeting. + +BELL. Vainlove, and abroad so early! Good-morrow; I thought a +contemplative lover could no more have parted with his bed in a +morning than he could have slept in't. + +VAIN. Bellmour, good-morrow. Why, truth on't is, these early +sallies are not usual to me; but business, as you see, sir-- +[Showing Letters.] And business must be followed, or be lost. + +BELL. Business! And so must time, my friend, be close pursued, or +lost. Business is the rub of life, perverts our aim, casts off the +bias, and leaves us wide and short of the intended mark. + +VAIN. Pleasure, I guess you mean. + +BELL. Ay; what else has meaning? + +VAIN. Oh, the wise will tell you - + +BELL. More than they believe--or understand. + +VAIN. How, how, Ned! A wise man say more than he understands? + +BELL. Ay, ay! Wisdom's nothing but a pretending to know and +believe more than we really do. You read of but one wise man, and +all that he knew was, that he knew nothing. Come, come, leave +business to idlers and wisdom to fools; they have need of 'em. Wit +be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation; and let Father Time +shake his glass. Let low and earthly souls grovel till they have +worked themselves six foot deep into a grave. Business is not my +element--I roll in a higher orb, and dwell - + +VAIN. In castles i' th' air of thy own building. That's thy +element, Ned. Well, as high a flier as you are, I have a lure may +make you stoop. [Flings a Letter.] + +BELL. I, marry, sir, I have a hawk's eye at a woman's hand. +There's more elegancy in the false spelling of this superscription +[takes up the Letter] than in all Cicero. Let me see.--How now!-- +Dear PERFIDIOUS VAINLOVE. [Reads.] + +VAIN. Hold, hold, 'slife, that's the wrong. + +BELL. Nay, let's see the name--Sylvia!--how canst thou be +ungrateful to that creature? She's extremely pretty, and loves +thee entirely--I have heard her breathe such raptures about thee - + +VAIN. Ay, or anybody that she's about - + +BELL. No, faith, Frank, you wrong her; she has been just to you. + +VAIN. That's pleasant, by my troth, from thee, who hast had her. + +BELL. Never--her affections. 'Tis true, by heaven: she owned it +to my face; and, blushing like the virgin morn when it disclosed +the cheat which that trusty bawd of nature, night, had hid, +confessed her soul was true to you; though I by treachery had +stolen the bliss. + +VAIN. So was true as turtle--in imagination--Ned, ha? Preach this +doctrine to husbands, and the married women will adore thee. + +BELL. Why, faith, I think it will do well enough, if the husband +be out of the way, for the wife to show her fondness and impatience +of his absence by choosing a lover as like him as she can; and what +is unlike, she may help out with her own fancy. + +VAIN. But is it not an abuse to the lover to be made a blind of? + +BELL. As you say, the abuse is to the lover, not the husband. For +'tis an argument of her great zeal towards him, that she will enjoy +him in effigy. + +VAIN. It must be a very superstitious country where such zeal +passes for true devotion. I doubt it will be damned by all our +Protestant husbands for flat idolatry. But, if you can make +Alderman Fondlewife of your persuasion, this letter will be +needless. + +BELL. What! The old banker with the handsome wife? + +VAIN. Ay. + +BELL. Let me see--LAETITIA! Oh, 'tis a delicious morsel. Dear +Frank, thou art the truest friend in the world. + +VAIN. Ay, am I not? To be continually starting of hares for you +to course. We were certainly cut out for one another; for my +temper quits an amour just where thine takes it up. But read that; +it is an appointment for me, this evening--when Fondlewife will be +gone out of town, to meet the master of a ship, about the return of +a venture which he's in danger of losing. Read, read. + +BELL. [reads.] Hum, Hum--Out of town this evening, and talks of +sending for Mr. Spintext to keep me company; but I'll take care he +shall not be at home. Good! Spintext! Oh, the fanatic one-eyed +parson! + +VAIN. Ay. + +BELL. [reads.] Hum, Hum--That your conversation will be much more +agreeable, if you can counterfeit his habit to blind the servants. +Very good! Then I must be disguised?--With all my heart!--It adds +a gusto to an amour; gives it the greater resemblance of theft; +and, among us lewd mortals, the deeper the sin the sweeter. Frank, +I'm amazed at thy good nature - + +VAIN. Faith, I hate love when 'tis forced upon a man, as I do +wine. And this business is none of my seeking; I only happened to +be, once or twice, where Laetitia was the handsomest woman in +company; so, consequently, applied myself to her--and it seems she +has taken me at my word. Had you been there, or anybody, 't had +been the same. + +BELL. I wish I may succeed as the same. + +VAIN. Never doubt it; for if the spirit of cuckoldom be once +raised up in a woman, the devil can't lay it, until she has done't. + +BELL. Prithee, what sort of fellow is Fondlewife? + +VAIN. A kind of mongrel zealot, sometimes very precise and +peevish. But I have seen him pleasant enough in his way; much +addicted to jealousy, but more to fondness; so that as he is often +jealous without a cause, he's as often satisfied without reason. + +BELL. A very even temper, and fit for my purpose. I must get your +man Setter to provide my disguise. + +VAIN. Ay; you may take him for good and all, if you will, for you +have made him fit for nobody else. Well - + +BELL. You're going to visit in return of Sylvia's letter. Poor +rogue! Any hour of the day or night will serve her. But do you +know nothing of a new rival there? + +VAIN. Yes; Heartwell--that surly, old, pretended woman-hater-- +thinks her virtuous; that's one reason why I fail her. I would +have her fret herself out of conceit with me, that she may +entertain some thoughts of him. I know he visits her every day. + +BELL. Yet rails on still, and thinks his love unknown to us. A +little time will swell him so, he must be forced to give it birth; +and the discovery must needs be very pleasant from himself, to see +what pains he will take, and how he will strain to be delivered of +a secret, when he has miscarried of it already. + +VAIN. Well, good-morrow. Let's dine together; I'll meet at the +old place. + +BELL. With all my heart. It lies convenient for us to pay our +afternoon services to our mistresses. I find I am damnably in +love, I'm so uneasy for not having seen Belinda yesterday. + +VAIN. But I saw my Araminta, yet am as impatient. + + +SCENE II. + + +BELLMOUR alone. + +BELL. Why, what a cormorant in love am I! Who, not contented with +the slavery of honourable love in one place, and the pleasure of +enjoying some half a score mistresses of my own acquiring, must yet +take Vainlove's business upon my hands, because it lay too heavy +upon his; so am not only forced to lie with other men's wives for +'em, but must also undertake the harder task of obliging their +mistresses. I must take up, or I shall never hold out. Flesh and +blood cannot bear it always. + + +SCENE III. + + +[To him] SHARPER. + +SHARP. I'm sorry to see this, Ned. Once a man comes to his +soliloquies, I give him for gone. + +BELL. Sharper, I'm glad to see thee. + +SHARP. What! is Belinda cruel, that you are so thoughtful? + +BELL. No, faith, not for that. But there's a business of +consequence fallen out to-day that requires some consideration. + +SHARP. Prithee, what mighty business of consequence canst thou +have? + +BELL. Why, you must know, 'tis a piece of work toward the +finishing of an alderman. It seems I must put the last hand to it, +and dub him cuckold, that he may be of equal dignity with the rest +of his brethren: so I must beg Belinda's pardon. + +SHARP. Faith, e'en give her over for good and all; you can have no +hopes of getting her for a mistress; and she is too proud, too +inconstant, too affected and too witty, and too handsome for a +wife. + +BELL. But she can't have too much money. There's twelve thousand +pound, Tom. 'Tis true she is excessively foppish and affected; but +in my conscience I believe the baggage loves me: for she never +speaks well of me herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me. +Then, as I told you, there's twelve thousand pound. Hum! Why, +faith, upon second thoughts, she does not appear to be so very +affected neither.--Give her her due, I think the woman's a woman, +and that's all. As such, I'm sure I shall like her; for the devil +take me if I don't love all the sex. + +SHARP. And here comes one who swears as heartily he hates all the +sex. + + +SCENE IV. + + +[To them] HEARTWELL. + +BELL. Who? Heartwell? Ay, but he knows better things. How now, +George, where hast thou been snarling odious truths, and +entertaining company, like a physician, with discourse of their +diseases and infirmities? What fine lady hast thou been putting +out of conceit with herself, and persuading that the face she had +been making all the morning was none of her own? For I know thou +art as unmannerly and as unwelcome to a woman as a looking-glass +after the smallpox. + +HEART. I confess I have not been sneering fulsome lies and +nauseous flattery; fawning upon a little tawdry whore, that will +fawn upon me again, and entertain any puppy that comes, like a +tumbler, with the same tricks over and over. For such, I guess, +may have been your late employment. + +BELL. Would thou hadst come a little sooner. Vainlove would have +wrought thy conversion, and been a champion for the cause. + +HEART. What! has he been here? That's one of love's April fools; +is always upon some errand that's to no purpose; ever embarking in +adventures, yet never comes to harbour. + +SHARP. That's because he always sets out in foul weather, loves to +buffet with the winds, meet the tide, and sail in the teeth of +opposition. + +HEART. What! Has he not dropt anchor at Araminta? + +BELL. Truth on't is she fits his temper best, is a kind of +floating island; sometimes seems in reach, then vanishes and keeps +him busied in the search. + +SHARP. She had need have a good share of sense to manage so +capricious a lover. + +BELL. Faith I don't know, he's of a temper the most easy to +himself in the world; he takes as much always of an amour as he +cares for, and quits it when it grows stale or unpleasant. + +SHARP. An argument of very little passion, very good +understanding, and very ill nature. + +HEART. And proves that Vainlove plays the fool with discretion. + +SHARP. You, Bellmour, are bound in gratitude to stickle for him; +you with pleasure reap that fruit, which he takes pains to sow: he +does the drudgery in the mine, and you stamp your image on the +gold. + +BELL. He's of another opinion, and says I do the drudgery in the +mine. Well, we have each our share of sport, and each that which +he likes best; 'tis his diversion to set, 'tis mine to cover the +partridge. + +HEART. And it should be mine to let 'em go again. + +SHARP. Not till you had mouthed a little, George. I think that's +all thou art fit for now. + +HEART. Good Mr. Young-Fellow, you're mistaken; as able as +yourself, and as nimble, too, though I mayn't have so much mercury +in my limbs; 'tis true, indeed, I don't force appetite, but wait +the natural call of my lust, and think it time enough to be lewd +after I have had the temptation. + +BELL. Time enough, ay, too soon, I should rather have expected, +from a person of your gravity. + +HEART. Yet it is oftentimes too late with some of you young, +termagant, flashy sinners--you have all the guilt of the intention, +and none of the pleasure of the practice--'tis true you are so +eager in pursuit of the temptation, that you save the devil the +trouble of leading you into it. Nor is it out of discretion that +you don't swallow that very hook yourselves have baited, but you +are cloyed with the preparative, and what you mean for a whet, +turns the edge of your puny stomachs. Your love is like your +courage, which you show for the first year or two upon all +occasions; till in a little time, being disabled or disarmed, you +abate of your vigour; and that daring blade which was so often +drawn, is bound to the peace for ever after. + +BELL. Thou art an old fornicator of a singular good principle +indeed, and art for encouraging youth, that they may be as wicked +as thou art at thy years. + +HEART. I am for having everybody be what they pretend to be: a +whoremaster be a whoremaster, and not like Vainlove, kiss a lap-dog +with passion, when it would disgust him from the lady's own lips. + +BELL. That only happens sometimes, where the dog has the sweeter +breath, for the more cleanly conveyance. But, George, you must not +quarrel with little gallantries of this nature: women are often +won by 'em. Who would refuse to kiss a lap-dog, if it were +preliminary to the lips of his lady? + +SHARP. Or omit playing with her fan, and cooling her if she were +hot, when it might entitle him to the office of warming her when +she should be cold? + +BELL. What is it to read a play in a rainy day? Though you should +be now and then interrupted in a witty scene, and she perhaps +preserve her laughter, till the jest were over; even that may be +borne with, considering the reward in prospect. + +HEART. I confess you that are women's asses bear greater burdens: +are forced to undergo dressing, dancing, singing, sighing, whining, +rhyming, flattering, lying, grinning, cringing, and the drudgery of +loving to boot. + +BELL. O brute, the drudgery of loving! + +HEART. Ay! Why, to come to love through all these incumbrances is +like coming to an estate overcharged with debts, which, by the time +you have paid, yields no further profit than what the bare tillage +and manuring of the land will produce at the expense of your own +sweat. + +BELL. Prithee, how dost thou love? + +SHARP. He! He hates the sex. + +HEART. So I hate physic too--yet I may love to take it for my +health. + +BELL. Well come off, George, if at any time you should be taken +straying. + +SHARP. He has need of such an excuse, considering the present +state of his body. + +HEART. How d'ye mean? + +SHARP. Why, if whoring be purging, as you call it, then, I may +say, marriage is entering into a course of physic. + +BELL. How, George! Does the wind blow there? + +HEART. It will as soon blow north and by south--marry, quotha! I +hope in heaven I have a greater portion of grace, and I think I +have baited too many of those traps to be caught in one myself. + +BELL. Who the devil would have thee? unless 'twere an oysterwoman +to propagate young fry for Billingsgate--thy talent will never +recommend thee to anything of better quality. + +HEART. My talent is chiefly that of speaking truth, which I don't +expect should ever recommend me to people of quality. I thank +heaven I have very honestly purchased the hatred of all the great +families in town. + +SHARP. And you in return of spleen hate them. But could you hope +to be received into the alliance of a noble family - + +HEART. No; I hope I shall never merit that affliction, to be +punished with a wife of birth, be a stag of the first head and bear +my horns aloft, like one of the supporters of my wife's coat. +S'death I would not be a Cuckold to e'er an illustrious whore in +England. + +BELL. What, not to make your family, man and provide for your +children? + +SHARP. For her children, you mean. + +HEART. Ay, there you've nicked it. There's the devil upon devil. +Oh, the pride and joy of heart 'twould be to me to have my son and +heir resemble such a duke; to have a fleering coxcomb scoff and +cry, 'Mr. your son's mighty like his Grace, has just his smile and +air of's face.' Then replies another, 'Methinks he has more of the +Marquess of such a place about his nose and eyes, though he has my +Lord what-d'ye-call's mouth to a tittle.' Then I, to put it off as +unconcerned, come chuck the infant under the chin, force a smile, +and cry, 'Ay, the boy takes after his mother's relations,' when the +devil and she knows 'tis a little compound of the whole body of +nobility. + +BELL+SHARP. Ha, ha, ha! + +BELL. Well, but, George, I have one question to ask you - + +HEART. Pshaw, I have prattled away my time. I hope you are in no +haste for an answer, for I shan't stay now. [Looking on his +watch.] + +BELL. Nay, prithee, George - + +HEART. No; besides my business, I see a fool coming this way. +Adieu. + + +SCENE V. + + +SHARPER, BELLMOUR. + +BELL. What does he mean? Oh, 'tis Sir Joseph Wittoll with his +friend; but I see he has turned the corner and goes another way. + +SHARP. What in the name of wonder is it? + +BELL. Why, a fool. + +SHARP. 'Tis a tawdry outside. + +BELL. And a very beggarly lining--yet he may be worth your +acquaintance; a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may extract gold from +that dirt. + +SHARP. Say you so? 'Faith I am as poor as a chymist, and would be +as industrious. But what was he that followed him? Is not he a +dragon that watches those golden pippins? + +BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, 'tis a very peaceful +one. I can ensure his anger dormant; or should he seem to rouse, +'tis but well lashing him, and he will sleep like a top. + +SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney? + +BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, as the +image of valour. He calls him his back, and indeed they are never +asunder--yet, last night, I know not by what mischance, the knight +was alone, and had fallen into the hands of some night-walkers, +who, I suppose, would have pillaged him. But I chanced to come by +and rescued him, though I believe he was heartily frightened; for +as soon as ever he was loose, he ran away without staying to see +who had helped him. + +SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army? + +BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier, +which nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does +atheism. You must know he has been abroad--went purely to run away +from a campaign; enriched himself with the plunder of a few oaths, +and here vents them against the general, who, slighting men of +merit, and preferring only those of interest, has made him quit the +service. + +SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own performance. + +BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own praise--the only +implement of a soldier he resembles, like that, being full of +blustering noise and emptiness - + +SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten. + +BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will take a +drubbing with as little noise as a pulpit cushion. + +SHARP. His name, and I have done? + +BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded with a +title: he is called Capt. Bluffe. + +SHARP. Well, I'll endeavour his acquaintance--you steer another +course, are bound - + +For love's island: I, for the golden coast. +May each succeed in what he wishes most. + + + +ACT II.--SCENE I. + + + +SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, SHARPER following. + +SHARP. Sure that's he, and alone. + +SIR JO. Um--Ay, this, this is the very damned place; the inhuman +cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would have butchered me last +night. No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my +skin, and devoured, etc. + +SHARP. How's this! + +SIR JO. An it hadn't been for a civil gentleman as came by and +frighted 'em away--but, agad, I durst not stay to give him thanks. + +SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I have a thought - + +SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very remembrance +makes me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to this place +heartily. + +SHARP. 'Tis but trying, and being where I am at worst, now luck!-- +cursed fortune! this must be the place, this damned unlucky place - + +SIR JO. Agad, and so 'tis. Why, here has been more mischief done, +I perceive. + +SHARP. No, 'tis gone, 'tis lost--ten thousand devils on that +chance which drew me hither; ay, here, just here, this spot to me +is hell; nothing to be found, but the despair of what I've lost. +[Looking about as in search.] + +SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry I'll stay no longer, +for I have found too - + +SHARP. Ha! who's that has found? What have you found? Restore it +quickly, or by - + +SIR JO. Not I, sir, not I; as I've a soul to be saved, I have +found nothing but what has been to my loss, as I may say, and as +you were saying, sir. + +SHARP. Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it seems. 'Tis +an ill wind that blows nobody good. Well, you may rejoice over my +ill fortune, since it paid the price of your ransom. + +SIR JO. I rejoice! agad, not I, sir: I'm very sorry for your +loss, with all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and if you did but +know me, you'd ne'er say I were so ill-natured. + +SHARP. Know you! Why, can you be so ungrateful to forget me? + +SIR JO. O Lord, forget him! No, no, sir, I don't forget you-- +because I never saw your face before, agad. Ha, ha, ha! + +SHARP. How! [Angrily.] + +SIR JO. Stay, stay, sir, let me recollect--he's a damned angry +fellow--I believe I had better remember him, until I can get out of +his sight; but out of sight out of mind, agad. [Aside.] + +SHARP. Methought the service I did you last night, sir, in +preserving you from those ruffians, might have taken better root in +your shallow memory. + +SIR JO. Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is the very +gentleman! How shall I make him a return suitable to the greatness +of his merit? I had a pretty thing to that purpose, if he ha'n't +frighted it out of my memory. Hem! hem! sir, I most submissively +implore your pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and +omission; having my entire dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of +your goodness, which, like an inundation, will, I hope, totally +immerge the recollection of my error, and leave me floating, in +your sight, upon the full-blown bladders of repentance--by the help +of which, I shall once more hope to swim into your favour. [Bows.] + +SHARP. So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the acknowledgment of +a gentleman - + +SIR JO. Acknowledgment! Sir, I am all over acknowledgment, and +will not stick to show it in the greatest extremity by night or by +day, in sickness or in health, winter or summer; all seasons and +occasions shall testify the reality and gratitude of your +superabundant humble servant, Sir Joseph Wittoll, knight. Hem! +hem! + +SHARP. Sir Joseph Wittoll? + +SIR JO. The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in COMITATU Bucks. + +SHARP. Is it possible! Then I am happy to have obliged the mirror +of knighthood and pink of courtesie in the age. Let me embrace +you. + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir! + +SHARP. My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with interest, since it +has purchased me the friendship and acquaintance of the person in +the world whose character I admire. + +SIR JO. You are only pleased to say so, sir. But, pray, if I may +be so bold, what is that loss you mention? + +SHARP. Oh, term it no longer so, sir. In the scuffle last night I +only dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, I confess, I came half +despairing to recover; but, thanks to my better fortune - + +SIR JO. You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I profess I'm +heartily glad - + +SHARP. Sir, your humble servant. I don't question but you are, +that you have so cheap an opportunity of expressing your gratitude +and generosity, since the paying so trivial a sum will wholly +acquit you and doubly engage me. + +SIR JO. What a dickens does he mean by a trivial sum? [Aside.] +But ha'n't you found it, sir! + +SHARP. No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in you, sir. + +SIR JO. Humh. + +SHARP. But that's sufficient. 'Twere injustice to doubt the +honour of Sir Joseph Wittoll. + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir. + +SHARP. You are above, I'm sure, a thought so low, to suffer me to +lose what was ventured in your service; nay, 'twas in a manner paid +down for your deliverance; 'twas so much lent you. And you scorn, +I'll say that for you - + +SIR JO. Nay, I'll say that for myself, with your leave, sir, I do +scorn a dirty thing. But, agad, I'm a little out of pocket at +present. + +SHARP. Pshaw, you can't want a hundred pound. Your word is +sufficient anywhere. 'Tis but borrowing so much dirt. You have +large acres, and can soon repay it. Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph- +-mere dirt. + +SIR JO. But, I profess, 'tis a dirt I have washed my hands of at +present; I have laid it all out upon my Back. + +SHARP. Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, ha, a +very good jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and that's a +better jest than t'other. 'Tis a sign you and I ha'n't been long +acquainted; you have lost a good jest for want of knowing me--I +only mean a friend of mine whom I call my Back; he sticks as close +to me, and follows me through all dangers--he is indeed back, +breast, and head-piece, as it were, to me. Agad, he's a brave +fellow. Pauh, I am quite another thing when I am with him: I +don't fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by. Ah! had he +been with me last night - + +SHARP. If he had, sir, what then? he could have done no more, nor +perhaps have suffered so much. Had he a hundred pound to lose? +[Angrily] + +SIR JO. O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved a hundred +pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir (a damned +hot fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all my ready +money to redeem his great sword from limbo. But, sir, I have a +letter of credit to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as two hundred +pound, and this afternoon you shall see I am a person, such a one +as you would wish to have met with - + +SHARP. That you are, I'll be sworn. [Aside.] Why, that's great +and like yourself. + + +SCENE II. + + +[To them] CAPTAIN BLUFFE. + +SIR JO. Oh, here a' comes--Ay, my Hector of Troy, welcome, my +bully, my Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit pat for thee. + +BLUFF. How now, my young knight? Not for fear, I hope; he that +knows me must be a stranger to fear. + +SIR JO. Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to have died +of a fright. But - + +BLUFF. But? Look you here, boy, here's your antidote, here's your +Jesuits' powder for a shaking fit. But who hast thou got with +thee? is he of mettle? [Laying his hand upon his sword.] + +SIR JO. Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: 'a will fight like a +cock. + +BLUFF. Say you so? Then I honour him. But has he been abroad? +for every cock will fight upon his own dunghill. + +SIR JO. I don't know, but I'll present you - + +BLUFF. I'll recommend myself. Sir, I honour you; I understand you +love fighting, I reverence a man that loves fighting. Sir, I kiss +your hilts. + +SHARP. Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, unless it +be to serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, my country, +or my religion, or in some very justifiable cause, I'm not for it. + +BLUFF. O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are not of my +palate: you can't relish a dish of fighting without sweet sauce. +Now, I think fighting for fighting sake's sufficient cause; +fighting to me's religion and the laws. + +SIR JO. Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir? by the +Lord Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and cloth to him. +But, Back, this gentleman is one of the best friends I have in the +world, and saved my life last night--you know I told you. + +BLUFF. Ay! Then I honour him again. Sir, may I crave your name? + +SHARP. Ay, sir, my name's Sharper. + +SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very well. By the +Lord Harry, Mr. Sharper, he's as brave a fellow as Cannibal, are +not you, Bully-Back? + +SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph. + +BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a very pretty +fellow--but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious--Hannibal was a +very pretty fellow in those days, it must be granted--but alas, +sir! were he alive now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth. + +SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at this day a greater +general breathing. + +BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, sir? + +SHARP. Not I, really, sir. + +BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know nothing, sir: I +am afraid you scarce know the history of the late war in Flanders, +with all its particulars. + +SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or gazettes tell +us. + +BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, sir, there are not +three words of truth the year round put into the Gazette. I'll +tell you a strange thing now as to that. You must know, sir, I was +resident in Flanders the last campaign, had a small post there, but +no matter for that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of +moment done but an humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, +was an eye-witness of. I won't say had the greatest share in't, +though I might say that too, since I name nobody you know. Well, +Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In all this time, as I hope for a +truncheon, this rascally gazette-writer never so much as once +mentioned me--not once, by the wars--took no more notice than as if +Nol. Bluffe had not been in the land of the living. + +SHARP. Strange! + +SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, 'tis true, Mr. Sharper, for I went +every day to coffee-houses to read the gazette myself. + +BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, after all I am +content to retire; live a private person. Scipio and others have +done it. + +SHARP. Impudent rogue. [Aside.] + +SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if he would put +in for't he might be made general himself yet. + +BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate this. + +SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you ate fire +once out of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; those +impenetrable whiskers of his have confronted flames - + +BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he's so modest he'll own +nothing. + +BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I was about. +Pray hold your tongue, and give me leave. [Angrily.] + +SIR JO. I am dumb. + +BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. Sharper. This +sword I'll maintain to be the best divine, anatomist, lawyer, or +casuist in Europe; it shall decide a controversy or split a cause - + +SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by the Lord +Harry, I have seen it. + +BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it's a lie; you have not seen it, nor sha'n't +see it; sir, I say you can't see; what d'ye say to that now? + +SIR JO. I am blind. + +BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted me - + +SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look that way. + +SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph's penitent. + +BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged culverin. But +'twas indiscreet, when you know what will provoke me. Nay, come, +Sir Joseph, you know my heat's soon over. + +SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I'm sorry. + +BLUFF. Enough. + +SIR JO. Come, we'll go take a glass to drown animosities. Mr. +Sharper, will you partake? + +SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you are Sir +Joseph's back. + + +SCENE III. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA, BETTY waiting, in Araminta's apartment. + +BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, no more. +O Gad! I swear you'd make one sick to hear you. + +ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus? + +BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of +that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man. You don't know what +you've said; your fever has transported you. + +ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the +cure. Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be +extinct till I myself am ashes. + +BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy. This +love is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed. +'Tis in the head, the heart, the blood, the--all over. O Gad, you +are quite spoiled. I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your +sake. + +ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of Bellmour's +company would change the scene. + +BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin - + +ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don't perceive you +love him. + +BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, love a man! + +ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast. + +BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass--which is so like your Vainlove. +Lard, I have seen an ass look so chagrin, ha, ha, ha (you must +pardon me, I can't help laughing), that an absolute lover would +have concluded the poor creature to have had darts, and flames, and +altars, and all that in his breast. Araminta, come, I'll talk +seriously to you now; could you but see with my eyes the buffoonery +of one scene of address, a lover, set out with all his equipage and +appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would--But you play the game, and +consequently can't see the miscarriages obvious to every stander +by. + +ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and Bellmour +meet. You don't know that you dreamt of Bellmour last night, and +called him aloud in your sleep. + +BELIN. Pish, I can't help dreaming of the devil sometimes; would +you from thence infer I love him? + +ARAM. But that's not all; you caught me in your arms when you +named him, and pressed me to your bosom. Sure, if I had not +pinched you until you waked, you had stifled me with kisses. + +BELIN. O barbarous aspersion! + +ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I can tell you +more. + +BELIN. I deny it all. + +ARAM. What, before you hear it? + +BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. Lard, cousin, +you talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my Sol, I'm afraid +you'll follow evil courses. + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant. + +BELIN. You may laugh, but - + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha! + +BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. The devil take +Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him? + +ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am sure you love +him. I tell nobody else, cousin. I have not betrayed you yet. + +BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it's false. + +ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends. + +BELIN. Pish. + +ARAM. Prithee don't be so peevish. + +BELIN. Prithee don't be so impertinent. Betty! + +ARAM. Ha, ha, ha! + +BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam? + +BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call a chair. + +ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, cousin. + + +SCENE IV. + + +[To them] FOOTMAN. + +FOOT. Madam, there are - + +BELIN. Is there a chair? + +FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove to wait +upon your ladyship. + +ARAM. Are they below? + +FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were at home. + +BELIN. The visit's to you, cousin; I suppose I am at my liberty. + +ARAM. Be ready to show 'em up. + + +SCENE V. + + +[To them] BETTY, with Hoods and Looking-glass. + +I can't tell, cousin; I believe we are equally concerned. But if +you continue your humour, it won't be very entertaining. (I know +she'd fain be persuaded to stay.) [Aside.] + +BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full and free +enjoyment of that conversation you admire. + +BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look wretchedly to- +day! + +ARAM. Betty, why don't you help my cousin? [Putting on her +hoods.] + +BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair with a +high roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, you Mrs. +Fidget--you are so ready to go to the footman. Here, take 'em all +again, my mind's changed; I won't go. + + +SCENE VI. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA. + +ARAM. So, this I expected. You won't oblige me, then, cousin, and +let me have all the company to myself? + +BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to trust you +to yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; and in this +favourable disposition of your mind, heaven knows how far you may +be tempted: I am tender of your reputation. + +ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who's malicious now, Belinda? + +BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure affection. + +ARAM. In my conscience I believe you. + + +SCENE VII. + + +[To them] VAINLOVE, BELLMOUR, FOOTMAN. + +BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both within, ladies, is +- + +ARAM. No miracle, I hope. + +BELL. Not o' your side, madam, I confess. But my tyrant there and +I, are two buckets that can never come together. + +BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and clash. + +BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But this it is to run +so extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such a world of love in +your service, that you think you can never be able to pay me all. +So shun me for the same reason that you would a dun. + +BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent and +troublesome of duns--a dun for money will be quiet, when he sees +his debtor has not wherewithal. But a dun for love is an eternal +torment that never rests - + +BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, and then +gets it for his pains. For importunity in love, like importunity +at Court, first creates its own interest and then pursues it for +the favour. + +ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, are like +discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, for his ease, +sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing of. + +VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be due rewards +to indefatigable devotion. For as love is a deity, he must be +served by prayer. + +BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, and let us +alone. + +VAIN. You are the temples of love, and 'tis through you, our +devotion must be conveyed. + +ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which upon the +least displeasure you forsake and set up new. Every man now +changes his mistress and his religion as his humour varies, or his +interest. + +VAIN. O madam - + +ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then we are in +great danger of being dull. If my music-master be not gone, I'll +entertain you with a new song, which comes pretty near my own +opinion of love and your sex. Who's there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? +[Calls.] + +FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I'll call him. + + +SCENE VIII. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, and BELLMOUR. + +BELL. Why, you won't hear me with patience. + +ARAM. What's the matter, cousin? + +BELL. Nothing, madam, only - + +BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so pestered me with +flames and stuff, I think I sha'n't endure the sight of a fire this +twelvemonth. + +BELL. Yet all can't melt that cruel frozen heart. + +BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy--you said that once +before--if you must talk impertinently, for Heaven's sake let it be +with variety; don't come always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. +I'll not hear a sentence more, that begins with an 'I burn'--or an +'I beseech you, madam.' + +BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am very tractable. + +BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence. + +BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the talk to +yourself. You had better let me speak; for if my thoughts fly to +any pitch, I shall make villainous signs. + +BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as I won't +understand? + +BELL. Ay, but if I'm tongue-tied, I must have all my actions free +to--quicken your apprehension--and I-gad let me tell you, my most +prevailing argument is expressed in dumb show. + + +SCENE IX. + + +[To them] MUSIC-MASTER. + +ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the discourse. +Pray oblige us with the last new song. + +SONG. + +I. + +Thus to a ripe, consenting maid, +Poor, old, repenting Delia said, +Would you long preserve your lover? +Would you still his goddess reign? +Never let him all discover, +Never let him much obtain. + +II. + +Men will admire, adore and die, +While wishing at your feet they lie: +But admitting their embraces, +Wakes 'em from the golden dream; +Nothing's new besides our faces, +Every woman is the same. + +ARAM. So, how de'e like the song, gentlemen? + +BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don't much admire the words. + +ARAM. I expected it; there's too much truth in 'em. If Mr. Gavot +will walk with us in the garden, we'll have it once again; you may +like it better at second hearing. You'll bring my cousin. + +BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but I'll make signs. +[Addresses Belinda in dumb show.] + +BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous than your +talking impertinence, as an ape is a much more troublesome animal +than a parrot. + +ARAM. Ay, cousin, and 'tis a sign the creatures mimic nature well; +for there are few men but do more silly things than they say. + +BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for my speech, +and set it at liberty--though, I confess, I could be well enough +pleased to drive on a love-bargain in that silent manner--'twould +save a man a world of lying and swearing at the year's end. +Besides, I have had a little experience, that brings to mind - + +When wit and reason both have failed to move; +Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove, +Ev'n silence may be eloquent in love. + + + +ACT III.--SCENE I. + + + +SCENE: The Street. + +SILVIA and LUCY. + +SILV. Will he not come, then? + +LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in and be +ready to receive him. + +SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you? + +LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell. + +SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove. + +LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own maiden-head as his +love. Therefore, e'en set your heart at rest, and in the name of +opportunity mind your own business. Strike Heartwell home before +the bait's worn off the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly +yesterday, and no doubt will be eager enough to-day to swallow the +temptation. + +SILV. Well, since there's no remedy--yet tell me--for I would +know, though to the anguish of my soul, how did he refuse? Tell +me, how did he receive my letter--in anger or in scorn? + +LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned senseless +indifference. By this light I could have spit in his face. +Receive it! Why, he received it as I would one of your lovers that +should come empty-handed; as a court lord does his mercer's bill or +a begging dedication--he received it as if 't had been a letter +from his wife. + +SILV. What! did he not read it? + +LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he would +take time to peruse it--but then he was in haste. + +SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He's gone, and Araminta has +bewitched him from me. Oh, how the name of rival fires my blood. +I could curse 'em both; eternal jealousy attend her love, and +disappointment meet his. Oh that I could revenge the torment he +has caused; methinks I feel the woman strong within me, and +vengeance kindles in the room of love. + +LUCY. I have that in my head may make mischief. + +SILV. How, dear Lucy? + +LUCY. You know Araminta's dissembled coyness has won, and keeps +him hers - + +SILV. Could we persuade him that she loves another - + +LUCY. No, you're out; could we persuade him that she dotes on him, +himself. Contrive a kind letter as from her, 'twould disgust his +nicety, and take away his stomach. + +SILV. Impossible; 'twill never take. + +LUCY. Trouble not your head. Let me alone--I will inform myself +of what passed between 'em to-day, and about it straight. Hold, +I'm mistaken, or that's Heartwell, who stands talking at the +corner--'tis he--go get you in, madam, receive him pleasantly, +dress up your face in innocence and smiles, and dissemble the very +want of dissimulation. You know what will take him. + +SILV. 'Tis as hard to counterfeit love as it is to conceal it: +but I'll do my weak endeavour, though I fear I have not art. + +LUCY. Hang art, madam, and trust to nature for dissembling. + +Man was by nature woman's cully made: +We never are but by ourselves betrayed. + + +SCENE II. + + +HEARTWELL, VAINLOVE and BELLMOUR following. + +BELL. Hist, hist, is not that Heartwell going to Silvia? + +VAIN. He's talking to himself, I think; prithee let's try if we +can hear him. + +HEART. Why, whither in the devil's name am I agoing now? Hum--let +me think--is not this Silvia's house, the cave of that enchantress, +and which consequently I ought to shun as I would infection? To +enter here is to put on the envenomed shirt, to run into the +embraces of a fever, and in some raving fit, be led to plunge +myself into that more consuming fire, a woman's arms. Ha! well +recollected, I will recover my reason, and be gone. + +BELL. Now Venus forbid! + +VAIN. Hush - + +HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your office--not one +inch; no, fore Gad I'm caught. There stands my north, and thither +my needle points. Now could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O +thou delicious, damned, dear, destructive woman! S'death, how the +young fellows will hoot me! I shall be the jest of the town: nay, +in two days I expect to be chronicled in ditty, and sung in woful +ballad, to the tune of the Superannuated Maiden's Comfort, or the +Bachelor's Fall; and upon the third, I shall be hanged in effigy, +pasted up for the exemplary ornament of necessary houses and +cobblers' stalls. Death, I can't think on't--I'll run into the +danger to lose the apprehension. + + +SCENE III. + + +BELLMOUR, VAINLOVE. + +BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, ha, poor +George, thou art i' th' right, thou hast sold thyself to laughter; +the ill-natured town will find the jest just where thou hast lost +it. Ha, ha, how a' struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees. + +VAIN. Or a young wench between pleasure and reputation. + +BELL. Or as you did to-day, when half afraid you snatched a kiss +from Araminta. + +VAIN. She has made a quarrel on't. + +BELL. Pauh, women are only angry at such offences to have the +pleasure of forgiving them. + +VAIN. And I love to have the pleasure of making my peace. I +should not esteem a pardon if too easily won. + +BELL. Thou dost not know what thou wouldst be at; whether thou +wouldst have her angry or pleased. Couldst thou be content to +marry Araminta? + +VAIN. Could you be content to go to heaven? + +BELL. Hum, not immediately, in my conscience not heartily. I'd do +a little more good in my generation first, in order to deserve it. + +VAIN. Nor I to marry Araminta till I merit her. + +BELL. But how the devil dost thou expect to get her if she never +yield? + +VAIN. That's true; but I would - + +BELL. Marry her without her consent; thou 'rt a riddle beyond +woman - + + +SCENE IV. + + +[To them] SETTER. + +Trusty Setter, what tidings? How goes the project? + +SETTER. As all lewd projects do, sir, where the devil prevents our +endeavours with success. + +BELL. A good hearing, Setter. + +VAIN. Well, I'll leave you with your engineer. + +BELL. And hast thou provided necessaries? + +SETTER. All, all, sir; the large sanctified hat, and the little +precise band, with a swinging long spiritual cloak, to cover carnal +knavery--not forgetting the black patch, which Tribulation Spintext +wears, as I'm informed, upon one eye, as a penal mourning for the +ogling offences of his youth; and some say, with that eye he first +discovered the frailty of his wife. + +BELL. Well, in this fanatic father's habit will I confess +Laetitia. + +SETTER. Rather prepare her for confession, sir, by helping her to +sin. + +BELL. Be at your master's lodging in the evening; I shall use the +robes. + + +SCENE V. + + +SETTER alone. + +SETTER. I shall, sir. I wonder to which of these two gentlemen I +do most properly appertain: the one uses me as his attendant; the +other (being the better acquainted with my parts) employs me as a +pimp; why, that's much the more honourable employment--by all +means. I follow one as my master, the other follows me as his +conductor. + + +SCENE VI. + + +[To him] Lucy. + +LUCY. There's the hang-dog, his man--I had a power over him in the +reign of my mistress; but he is too true a VALET DE CHAMBRE not to +affect his master's faults, and consequently is revolted from his +allegiance. + +SETTER. Undoubtedly 'tis impossible to be a pimp and not a man of +parts. That is without being politic, diligent, secret, wary, and +so forth--and to all this valiant as Hercules--that is, passively +valiant and actively obedient. Ah, Setter, what a treasure is here +lost for want of being known. + +LUCY. Here's some villainy afoot; he's so thoughtful. May be I +may discover something in my mask. Worthy sir, a word with you. +[Puts on her mask.] + +SETTER. Why, if I were known, I might come to be a great man - + +LUCY. Not to interrupt your meditation - + +SETTER. And I should not be the first that has procured his +greatness by pimping. + +LUCY. Now poverty and the pox light upon thee for a contemplative +pimp. + +SETTER. Ha! what art who thus maliciously hast awakened me from my +dream of glory? Speak, thou vile disturber - + +LUCY. Of thy most vile cogitations--thou poor, conceited wretch, +how wert thou valuing thyself upon thy master's employment? For +he's the head pimp to Mr. Bellmour. + +SETTER. Good words, damsel, or I shall--But how dost thou know my +master or me? + +LUCY. Yes; I know both master and man to be - + +SETTER. To be men, perhaps; nay, faith, like enough: I often +march in the rear of my master, and enter the breaches which he has +made. + +LUCY. Ay, the breach of faith, which he has begun: thou traitor +to thy lawful princess. + +SETTER. Why, how now! prithee who art? Lay by that worldly face +and produce your natural vizor. + +LUCY. No, sirrah, I'll keep it on to abuse thee and leave thee +without hopes of revenge. + +SETTER. Oh! I begin to smoke ye: thou art some forsaken Abigail +we have dallied with heretofore--and art come to tickle thy +imagination with remembrance of iniquity past. + +LUCY. No thou pitiful flatterer of thy master's imperfections; +thou maukin made up of the shreds and parings of his superfluous +fopperies. + +SETTER. Thou art thy mistress's foul self, composed of her sullied +iniquities and clothing. + +LUCY. Hang thee, beggar's cur, thy master is but a mumper in love, +lies canting at the gate; but never dares presume to enter the +house. + +SETTER. Thou art the wicket to thy mistress's gate, to be opened +for all comers. In fine thou art the highroad to thy mistress. + +LUCY. Beast, filthy toad, I can hold no longer, look and tremble. +[Unmasks.] + +SETTER. How, Mrs. Lucy! + +LUCY. I wonder thou hast the impudence to look me in the face. + +SETTER. Adsbud, who's in fault, mistress of mine? who flung the +first stone? who undervalued my function? and who the devil could +know you by instinct? + +LUCY. You could know my office by instinct, and be hanged, which +you have slandered most abominably. It vexes me not what you said +of my person; but that my innocent calling should be exposed and +scandalised--I cannot bear it. + +SETTER. Nay, faith, Lucy, I'm sorry, I'll own myself to blame, +though we were both in fault as to our offices--come, I'll make you +any reparation. + +LUCY. Swear. + +SETTER. I do swear to the utmost of my power. + +LUCY. To be brief, then; what is the reason your master did not +appear to-day according to the summons I brought him? + +SETTER. To answer you as briefly--he has a cause to be tried in +another court. + +LUCY. Come, tell me in plain terms, how forward he is with +Araminta. + +SETTER. Too forward to be turned back--though he's a little in +disgrace at present about a kiss which he forced. You and I can +kiss, Lucy, without all that. + +LUCY. Stand off--he's a precious jewel. + +SETTER. And therefore you'd have him to set in your lady's locket. + +LUCY. Where is he now? + +SETTER. He'll be in the Piazza presently. + +LUCY. Remember to-day's behaviour. Let me see you with a penitent +face. + +SETTER. What, no token of amity, Lucy? You and I don't use to +part with dry lips. + +LUCY. No, no, avaunt--I'll not be slabbered and kissed now--I'm +not i' th' humour. + +SETTER. I'll not quit you so. I'll follow and put you into the +humour. + + +SCENE VII. + + +SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, BLUFFE. + +BLUFF. And so, out of your unwonted generosity - + +SIR JO. And good-nature, Back; I am good-natured and I can't help +it. + +BLUFF. You have given him a note upon Fondlewife for a hundred +pound. + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, poor fellow; he ventured fair for't. + +BLUFF. You have disobliged me in it--for I have occasion for the +money, and if you would look me in the face again and live, go, and +force him to redeliver you the note. Go, and bring it me hither. +I'll stay here for you. + +SIR JO. You may stay until the day of judgment, then, by the Lord +Harry. I know better things than to be run through the guts for a +hundred pounds. Why, I gave that hundred pound for being saved, +and de'e think, an there were no danger, I'll be so ungrateful to +take it from the gentleman again? + +BLUFF. Well, go to him from me--tell him, I say, he must refund-- +or Bilbo's the world, and slaughter will ensue. If he refuse, tell +him--but whisper that--tell him--I'll pink his soul. But whisper +that softly to him. + +SIR JO. So softly that he shall never hear on't, I warrant you. +Why, what a devil's the matter, Bully; are you mad? or de'e think +I'm mad? Agad, for my part, I don't love to be the messenger of +ill news; 'tis an ungrateful office--so tell him yourself. + +BLUFF. By these hilts I believe he frightened you into this +composition: I believe you gave it him out of fear, pure, paltry +fear--confess. + +SIR JO. No, no, hang't; I was not afraid neither--though I confess +he did in a manner snap me up--yet I can't say that it was +altogether out of fear, but partly to prevent mischief--for he was +a devilish choleric fellow. And if my choler had been up too, +agad, there would have been mischief done, that's flat. And yet I +believe if you had been by, I would as soon have let him a' had a +hundred of my teeth. Adsheart, if he should come just now when I'm +angry, I'd tell him--Mum. + + +SCENE VIII. + + +[To them] BELLMOUR, SHARPER. + +BELL. Thou 'rt a lucky rogue; there's your benefactor; you ought +to return him thanks now you have received the favour. + +SHARP. Sir Joseph! Your note was accepted, and the money paid at +sight. I'm come to return my thanks - + +SIR JO. They won't be accepted so readily as the bill, sir. + +BELL. I doubt the knight repents, Tom. He looks like the knight +of the sorrowful face. + +SHARP. This is a double generosity: do me a kindness and refuse +my thanks. But I hope you are not offended that I offered them. + +SIR JO. May be I am, sir, may be I am not, sir, may be I am both, +sir; what then? I hope I may be offended without any offence to +you, sir. + +SHARP. Hey day! Captain, what's the matter? You can tell. + +BLUFF. Mr. Sharper, the matter is plain: Sir Joseph has found out +your trick, and does not care to be put upon, being a man of +honour. + +SHARP. Trick, sir? + +SIR JO. Ay, trick, sir, and won't be put upon, sir, being a man of +honour, sir, and so, sir - + +SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In consideration of +some favours lately received, I would not have you draw yourself +into a PREMUNIRE, by trusting to that sign of a man there--that +pot-gun charged with wind. + +SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify yourself--I'll give +him the lie if you'll stand to it. + +SHARP. Nay, then, I'll be beforehand with you, take that, oaf. +[Cuffs him.] + +SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won't you pink his soul? + +BLUFF. Husht, 'tis not so convenient now--I shall find a time. + +SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? You were the +incendiary. There's to put you in mind of your time.--A +memorandum. [Kicks him.] + +BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use on't. + +SHARP. I--Gad and so I will: there's again for you. [Kicks him.] + +BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a place to +thank you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen again? + +SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be felt--as for example. +[Kicks him.] + +BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; 'tis scandalous to kick this +puppy unless a man were cold and had no other way to get himself +aheat. + + +SCENE IX. + + +SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. + +BLUFF. Very well--very fine--but 'tis no matter. Is not this +fine, Sir Joseph? + +SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very indifferent. I'd +rather go plain all my life than wear such finery. + +BLUFF. Death and hell to be affronted thus! I'll die before I'll +suffer it. [Draws] + +SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. Nay, dear +Captain, don't be in passion now he's gone. Put up, put up, dear +Back, 'tis your Sir Joseph begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put +up, put up. + +BLUFF. By heaven, 'tis not to be put up. + +SIR JO. What, Bully? + +BLUFF. The affront. + +SIR JO. No, aged, no more 'tis, for that's put up all already; thy +sword, I mean. + +BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty--But were not you, my +friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked? [Putting up his sword.] + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, 'tis past. + +BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, 'tis false--he sucks +not vital air who dares affirm it to this face. [Looks big.] + +SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, I grant you-- +not to that face, by the Lord Harry. If you had put on your +fighting face before, you had done his business--he durst as soon +have kissed you, as kicked you to your face. But a man can no more +help what's done behind his back than what's said--Come, we'll +think no more of what's past. + +BLUFF. I'll call a council of war within to consider of my revenge +to come. + + +SCENE X. + + +HEARTWELL, SILVIA. Silvia's apartment. + +SONG. + +As Amoret and Thyrsis lay +Melting the hours in gentle play, +Joining faces, mingling kisses, +And exchanging harmless blisses: +He trembling cried, with eager haste, +O let me feed as well as taste, +I die, if I'm not wholly blest. +[After the song a dance of antics.] + +SILV. Indeed it is very fine. I could look upon 'em all day. + +HEART. Well has this prevailed for me, and will you look upon me? + +SILV. If you could sing and dance so, I should love to look upon +you too. + +HEART. Why, 'twas I sung and danced; I gave music to the voice, +and life to their measures. Look you here, Silvia, [pulling out a +purse and chinking it] here are songs and dances, poetry and music- +-hark! how sweetly one guinea rhymes to another--and how they dance +to the music of their own chink. This buys all t'other--and this +thou shalt have; this, and all that I am worth, for the purchase of +thy love. Say, is it mine then, ha? Speak, Syren--Oons, why do I +look on her! Yet I must. Speak, dear angel, devil, saint, witch; +do not rack me with suspense. + +SILV. Nay, don't stare at me so. You make me blush--I cannot +look. + +HEART. O manhood, where art thou? What am I come to? A woman's +toy, at these years! Death, a bearded baby for a girl to dandle. +O dotage, dotage! That ever that noble passion, lust, should ebb +to this degree. No reflux of vigorous blood: but milky love +supplies the empty channels; and prompts me to the softness of a +child--a mere infant and would suck. Can you love me, Silvia? +Speak. + +SILV. I dare not speak until I believe you, and indeed I'm afraid +to believe you yet. + +HEART. Death, how her innocence torments and pleases me! Lying, +child, is indeed the art of love, and men are generally masters in +it: but I'm so newly entered, you cannot distrust me of any skill +in the treacherous mystery. Now, by my soul, I cannot lie, though +it were to serve a friend or gain a mistress. + +SILV. Must you lie, then, if you say you love me? + +HEART. No, no, dear ignorance, thou beauteous changeling--I tell +thee I do love thee, and tell it for a truth, a naked truth, which +I'm ashamed to discover. + +SILV. But love, they say, is a tender thing, that will smooth +frowns, and make calm an angry face; will soften a rugged temper, +and make ill-humoured people good. You look ready to fright one, +and talk as if your passion were not love, but anger. + +HEART. 'Tis both; for I am angry with myself when I am pleased +with you. And a pox upon me for loving thee so well--yet I must +on. 'Tis a bearded arrow, and will more easily be thrust forward +than drawn back. + +SILV. Indeed, if I were well assured you loved; but how can I be +well assured? + +HEART. Take the symptoms--and ask all the tyrants of thy sex if +their fools are not known by this party-coloured livery. I am +melancholic when thou art absent; look like an ass when thou art +present; wake for thee when I should sleep; and even dream of thee +when I am awake; sigh much, drink little, eat less, court solitude, +am grown very entertaining to myself, and (as I am informed) very +troublesome to everybody else. If this be not love, it is madness, +and then it is pardonable. Nay, yet a more certain sign than all +this, I give thee my money. + +SILV. Ay, but that is no sign; for they say, gentlemen will give +money to any naughty woman to come to bed to them. O Gemini, I +hope you don't mean so--for I won't be a whore. + +HEART. The more is the pity. [Aside.] + +SILV. Nay, if you would marry me, you should not come to bed to +me--you have such a beard, and would so prickle one. But do you +intend to marry me? + +HEART. That a fool should ask such a malicious question! Death, I +shall be drawn in before I know where I am. However, I find I am +pretty sure of her consent, if I am put to it. [Aside.] Marry +you? No, no, I'll love you. + +SILV. Nay, but if you love me, you must marry me. What, don't I +know my father loved my mother and was married to her? + +HEART. Ay, ay, in old days people married where they loved; but +that fashion is changed, child. + +SILV. Never tell me that; I know it is not changed by myself: for +I love you, and would marry you. + +HEART. I'll have my beard shaved, it sha'n't hurt thee, and we'll +go to bed - + +SILV. No, no, I'm not such a fool neither, but I can keep myself +honest. Here, I won't keep anything that's yours; I hate you now, +[throws the purse] and I'll never see you again, 'cause you'd have +me be naught. [Going.] + +HEART. Damn her, let her go, and a good riddance. Yet so much +tenderness and beauty and honesty together is a jewel. Stay, +Silvia--But then to marry; why, every man plays the fool once in +his life. But to marry is playing the fool all one's life long. + +SILV. What did you call me for? + +HEART. I'll give thee all I have, and thou shalt live with me in +everything so like my wife, the world shall believe it. Nay, thou +shalt think so thyself--only let me not think so. + +SILV. No, I'll die before I'll be your whore--as well as I love +you. + +HEART. [Aside.] A woman, and ignorant, may be honest, when 'tis +out of obstinacy and contradiction. But, s'death, it is but a may +be, and upon scurvy terms. Well, farewell then--if I can get out +of sight I may get the better of myself. + +SILV. Well--good-bye. [Turns and weeps.] + +HEART. Ha! Nay, come, we'll kiss at parting. [Kisses her.] By +heaven, her kiss is sweeter than liberty. I will marry thee. +There, thou hast done't. All my resolves melted in that kiss--one +more. + +SILV. But when? + +HEART. I'm impatient until it be done; I will not give myself +liberty to think, lest I should cool. I will about a licence +straight--in the evening expect me. One kiss more to confirm me +mad; so. + +SILV. Ha, ha, ha, an old fox trapped - + + +SCENE XI. + + +[To her] Lucy. + +Bless me! you frighted me; I thought he had been come again, and +had heard me. + +LUCY. Lord, madam, I met your lover in as much haste as if he had +been going for a midwife. + +SILV. He's going for a parson, girl, the forerunner of a midwife, +some nine months hence. Well, I find dissembling to our sex is as +natural as swimming to a negro; we may depend upon our skill to +save us at a plunge, though till then, we never make the +experiment. But how hast thou succeeded? + +LUCY. As you would wish--since there is no reclaiming Vainlove. I +have found out a pique she has taken at him, and have framed a +letter that makes her sue for reconciliation first. I know that +will do--walk in and I'll show it you. Come, madam, you're like to +have a happy time on't; both your love and anger satisfied! All +that can charm our sex conspire to please you. + +That woman sure enjoys a blessed night, +Whom love and vengeance both at once delight. + + + +ACT IV.--SCENE I. + + + +SCENE: The Street. + +BELLMOUR, in fanatic habit, SETTER. + +BELL. 'Tis pretty near the hour. [Looking on his watch.] Well, +and how, Setter, hae, does my hypocrisy fit me, hae? Does it sit +easy on me? + +SET. Oh, most religiously well, sir. + +BELL. I wonder why all our young fellows should glory in an +opinion of atheism, when they may be so much more conveniently lewd +under the coverlet of religion. + +SET. S'bud, sir, away quickly: there's Fondlewife just turned the +corner, and 's coming this way. + +BELL. Gad's so, there he is: he must not see me. + + +SCENE II. + + +FONDLEWIFE, BARNABY. + +FOND. I say I will tarry at home. + +BAR. But, sir. + +FOND. Good lack! I profess the spirit of contradiction hath +possessed the lad--I say I will tarry at home, varlet. + +BAR. I have done, sir; then farewell five hundred pound. + +FOND. Ha, how's that? Stay, stay, did you leave word, say you, +with his wife? With Comfort herself? + +BAR. I did; and Comfort will send Tribulation hither as soon as +ever he comes home. I could have brought young Mr. Prig to have +kept my mistress company in the meantime. But you say - + +FOND. How, how, say, varlet! I say let him not come near my +doors. I say, he is a wanton young Levite, and pampereth himself +up with dainties, that he may look lovely in the eyes of women. +Sincerely, I am afraid he hath already defiled the tabernacle of +our sister Comfort; while her good husband is deluded by his godly +appearance. I say that even lust doth sparkle in his eyes and glow +upon his cheeks, and that I would as soon trust my wife with a +lord's high-fed chaplain. + +BAR. Sir, the hour draws nigh, and nothing will be done here until +you come. + +FOND. And nothing can be done here until I go; so that I'll tarry, +de'e see. + +BAR. And run the hazard to lose your affair, sir! + +FOND. Good lack, good lack--I profess it is a very sufficient +vexation for a man to have a handsome wife. + +BAR. Never, sir, but when the man is an insufficient husband. +'Tis then, indeed, like the vanity of taking a fine house, and yet +be forced to let lodgings to help pay the rent. + +FOND. I profess a very apt comparison, varlet. Go and bid my +Cocky come out to me; I will give her some instructions, I will +reason with her before I go. + + +SCENE III. + + +FONDLEWIFE alone. + +And in the meantime I will reason with myself. Tell me, Isaac, why +art thee jealous? Why art thee distrustful of the wife of thy +bosom? Because she is young and vigorous, and I am old and +impotent. Then why didst thee marry, Isaac? Because she was +beautiful and tempting, and because I was obstinate and doting; so +that my inclination was (and is still) greater than my power. And +will not that which tempted thee, also tempt others, who will tempt +her, Isaac? I fear it much. But does not thy wife love thee, nay, +dote upon thee? Yes. Why then! Ay, but to say truth, she's +fonder of me than she has reason to be; and in the way of trade, we +still suspect the smoothest dealers of the deepest designs. And +that she has some designs deeper than thou canst reach, thou hast +experimented, Isaac. But, mum. + + +SCENE IV. + + +FONDLEWIFE, LAETITIA. + +LAET. I hope my dearest jewel is not going to leave me--are you, +Nykin? + +FOND. Wife--have you thoroughly considered how detestable, how +heinous, and how crying a sin the sin of adultery is? Have you +weighed it, I say? For it is a very weighty sin; and although it +may lie heavy upon thee, yet thy husband must also bear his part. +For thy iniquity will fall upon his head. + +LAET. Bless me, what means my dear? + +FOND. [Aside.] I profess she has an alluring eye; I am doubtful +whether I shall trust her, even with Tribulation himself. Speak, I +say, have you considered what it is to cuckold your husband? + +LAET. [Aside.] I'm amazed. Sure he has discovered nothing. Who +has wronged me to my dearest? I hope my jewel does not think that +ever I had any such thing in my head, or ever will have. + +FOND. No, no, I tell you I shall have it in my head - + +LAET. [Aside.] I know not what to think. But I'm resolved to +find the meaning of it. Unkind dear! Was it for this you sent to +call me? Is it not affliction enough that you are to leave me, but +you must study to increase it by unjust suspicions? [Crying.] +Well--well--you know my fondness, and you love to tyrannise--Go on, +cruel man, do: triumph over my poor heart while it holds, which +cannot be long, with this usage of yours. But that's what you +want. Well, you will have your ends soon. You will--you will. +Yes, it will break to oblige you. [Sighs.] + +FOND. Verily, I fear I have carried the jest too far. Nay, look +you now if she does not weep--'tis the fondest fool. Nay, Cocky, +Cocky, nay, dear Cocky, don't cry, I was but in jest, I was not, +ifeck. + +LAET. [Aside.] Oh then, all's safe. I was terribly frighted. My +affliction is always your jest, barbarous man! Oh, that I should +love to this degree! Yet - + +FOND. Nay, Cocky. + +LAET. No, no, you are weary of me, that's it--that's all, you +would get another wife--another fond fool, to break her heart-- +Well, be as cruel as you can to me, I'll pray for you; and when I +am dead with grief, may you have one that will love you as well as +I have done: I shall be contented to lie at peace in my cold +grave--since it will please you. [Sighs.] + +FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of oak--I +profess I can hold no longer. Nay, dear Cocky--ifeck, you'll break +my heart--ifeck you will. See, you have made me weep--made poor +Nykin weep. Nay, come kiss, buss poor Nykin--and I won't leave +thee--I'll lose all first. + +LAET. [Aside.] How! Heaven forbid! that will be carrying the +jest too far indeed. + +FOND. Won't you kiss Nykin? + +LAET. Go, naughty Nykin, you don't love me. + +FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do. + +LAET. No, you don't. [She kisses him.] + +FOND. What, not love Cocky! + +LAET. No-h. [Sighs.] + +FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred pound--and +so thou shalt say, for I'll leave it to stay with thee. + +LAET. No you sha'n't neglect your business for me. No, indeed, +you sha'n't, Nykin. If you don't go, I'll think you been dealous +of me still. + +FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I will go, I won't +be dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here +will be the good man anon, to talk to Cocky and teach her how a +wife ought to behave herself. + +LAET. [Aside.] I hope to have one that will show me how a husband +ought to behave himself. I shall be glad to learn, to please my +jewel. [Kiss.] + +FOND. That's my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin once more, and then +get you in. So--get you in, get you in. Bye, bye. + +LAET. Bye, Nykin. + +FOND. Bye, Cocky. + +LAET. Bye, Nykin. + +FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye. + + +SCENE V. + + +VAINLOVE, SHARPER. + +SHARP. How! Araminta lost! + +VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. [Gives a letter.] + +SHARP. [Reads.] Hum, hum! And what then appeared a fault, upon +reflection seems only an effect of a too powerful passion. I'm +afraid I give too great a proof of my own at this time. I am in +disorder for what I have written. But something, I know not what, +forced me. I only beg a favourable censure of this and your +ARAMINTA. + +SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy wits. Here, +here, she's thy own, man, signed and sealed too. To her, man--a +delicious melon, pure and consenting ripe, and only waits thy +cutting up: she has been breeding love to thee all this while, and +just now she's delivered of it. + +VAIN. 'Tis an untimely fruit, and she has miscarried of her love. + +SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, Frank? Thou +hast a sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love and cannot digest +it. + +VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be crammed. By +heaven, there's not a woman will give a man the pleasure of a +chase: my sport is always balked or cut short. I stumble over the +game I would pursue. 'Tis dull and unnatural to have a hare run +full in the hounds' mouth, and would distaste the keenest hunter. +I would have overtaken, not have met, my game. + +SHARP. However, I hope you don't mean to forsake it; that will be +but a kind of mongrel cur's trick. Well, are you for the Mall? + +VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I will go too, and +she shall see her error in - + +SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be so great a +brute as to slight her. + +VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her management I +should think she expects it. + +All naturally fly what does pursue: +'Tis fit men should be coy when women woo. + + +SCENE VI. + + +A Room in Fondlewife's House. + +A SERVANT introducing BELLMOUR, in fanatic habit, with a patch upon +one eye and a book in his hand. + +SERV. Here's a chair, sir, if you please to repose yourself. My +mistress is coming, sir. + +BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion and even +dared discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and trusty Scarron's +novels my prayer-book; methinks I am the very picture of Montufar +in the Hypocrites. Oh! she comes. + + +SCENE VII. + + +BELLMOUR, LAETITIA. + +So breaks Aurora through the veil of night, +Thus fly the clouds, divided by her light, +And every eye receives a new-born sight. +[Throwing off his cloak, patch, etc.] + +LAET. Thus strewed with blushes, like--Ah! Heaven defend me! +Who's this? [Discovering him, starts.] + +BELL. Your lover. + +LAET. Vainlove's friend! I know his face, and he has betrayed me +to him. [Aside.] + +BELL. You are surprised. Did you not expect a lover, madam? +Those eyes shone kindly on my first appearance, though now they are +o'ercast. + +LAET. I may well be surprised at your person and impudence: they +are both new to me. You are not what your first appearance +promised: the piety of your habit was welcome, but not the +hypocrisy. + +BELL. Rather the hypocrisy was welcome, but not the hypocrite. + +LAET. Who are you, sir? You have mistaken the house sure. + +BELL. I have directions in my pocket which agree with everything +but your unkindness. [Pulls out the letter.] + +LAET. My letter! Base Vainlove! Then 'tis too late to dissemble. +[Aside.] 'Tis plain, then, you have mistaken the person. [Going.] + +BELL. If we part so I'm mistaken. Hold, hold, madam! I confess I +have run into an error. I beg your pardon a thousand times. What +an eternal blockhead am I! Can you forgive me the disorder I have +put you into? But it is a mistake which anybody might have made. + +LAET. What can this mean? 'Tis impossible he should be mistaken +after all this. A handsome fellow if he had not surprised me. +Methinks, now I look on him again, I would not have him mistaken. +[Aside.] We are all liable to mistakes, sir. If you own it to be +so, there needs no farther apology. + +BELL. Nay, faith, madam, 'tis a pleasant one, and worth your +hearing. Expecting a friend last night, at his lodgings, till +'twas late, my intimacy with him gave me the freedom of his bed. +He not coming home all night, a letter was delivered to me by a +servant in the morning. Upon the perusal I found the contents so +charming that I could think of nothing all day but putting 'em in +practice, until just now, the first time I ever looked upon the +superscription, I am the most surprised in the world to find it +directed to Mr. Vainlove. Gad, madam, I ask you a million of +pardons, and will make you any satisfaction. + +LAET. I am discovered. And either Vainlove is not guilty, or he +has handsomely excused him. [Aside.] + +BELL. You appear concerned, madam. + +LAET. I hope you are a gentleman;--and since you are privy to a +weak woman's failing, won't turn it to the prejudice of her +reputation. You look as if you had more honour - + +BELL. And more love, or my face is a false witness and deserves to +be pilloried. No, by heaven, I swear - + +LAET. Nay, don't swear if you'd have me believe you; but promise - + +BELL. Well, I promise. A promise is so cold: give me leave to +swear, by those eyes, those killing eyes, by those healing lips. +Oh! press the soft charm close to mine, and seal 'em up for ever. + +LAET. Upon that condition. [He kisses her.] + +BELL. Eternity was in that moment. One more, upon any condition! + +LAET. Nay, now--I never saw anything so agreeably impudent. +[Aside.] Won't you censure me for this, now?--but 'tis to buy your +silence. [Kiss.] Oh, but what am I doing! + +BELL. Doing! No tongue can express it--not thy own, nor anything, +but thy lips. I am faint with the excess of bliss. Oh, for love- +sake, lead me anywhither, where I may lie down --quickly, for I'm +afraid I shall have a fit. + +LAET. Bless me! What fit? + +BELL. Oh, a convulsion--I feel the symptoms. + +LAET. Does it hold you long? I'm afraid to carry you into my +chamber. + +BELL. Oh, no: let me lie down upon the bed; the fit will be soon +over. + + +SCENE VIII. + + +SCENE: St. James's Park. + +ARAMINTA and BELINDA meeting. + +BELIN. Lard, my dear, I am glad I have met you; I have been at the +Exchange since, and am so tired - + +ARAM. Why, what's the matter? + +BELIN. Oh the most inhuman, barbarous hackney-coach! I am jolted +to a jelly. Am I not horribly touzed? [Pulls out a pocket-glass.] + +ARAM. Your head's a little out of order. + +BELIN. A little! O frightful! What a furious phiz I have! O +most rueful! Ha, ha, ha. O Gad, I hope nobody will come this way, +till I have put myself a little in repair. Ah! my dear, I have +seen such unhewn creatures since. Ha, ha, ha. I can't for my soul +help thinking that I look just like one of 'em. Good dear, pin +this, and I'll tell you--very well--so, thank you, my dear--but as +I was telling you--pish, this is the untowardest lock--so, as I was +telling you--how d'ye like me now? Hideous, ha? Frightful still? +Or how? + +ARAM. No, no; you're very well as can be. + +BELIN. And so--but where did I leave off, my dear? I was telling +you - + +ARAM. You were about to tell me something, child, but you left off +before you began. + +BELIN. Oh; a most comical sight: a country squire, with the +equipage of a wife and two daughters, came to Mrs. Snipwel's shop +while I was there--but oh Gad! two such unlicked cubs! + +ARAM. I warrant, plump, cherry-cheeked country girls. + +BELIN. Ay, o' my conscience, fat as barn-door fowl: but so +bedecked, you would have taken 'em for Friesland hens, with their +feathers growing the wrong way. O such outlandish creatures! Such +Tramontanae, and foreigners to the fashion, or anything in +practice! I had not patience to behold. I undertook the modelling +of one of their fronts, the more modern structure - + +ARAM. Bless me, cousin; why would you affront anybody so? They +might be gentlewomen of a very good family - + +BELIN. Of a very ancient one, I dare swear, by their dress. +Affront! pshaw, how you're mistaken! The poor creature, I warrant, +was as full of curtsies, as if I had been her godmother. The truth +on't is, I did endeavour to make her look like a Christian--and she +was sensible of it, for she thanked me, and gave me two apples, +piping hot, out of her under-petticoat pocket. Ha, ha, ha: and +t'other did so stare and gape, I fancied her like the front of her +father's hall; her eyes were the two jut-windows, and her mouth the +great door, most hospitably kept open for the entertainment of +travelling flies. + +ARAM. So then, you have been diverted. What did they buy? + +BELIN. Why, the father bought a powder-horn, and an almanac, and a +comb-case; the mother, a great fruz-towr, and a fat amber necklace; +the daughters only tore two pairs of kid-leather gloves, with +trying 'em on. O Gad, here comes the fool that dined at my Lady +Freelove's t'other day. + + +SCENE IX. + + +[To them] SIR JOSEPH and BLUFFE. + +ARAM. May be he may not know us again. + +BELIN. We'll put on our masks to secure his ignorance. [They put +on their masks.] + +SIR JO. Nay, Gad, I'll pick up; I'm resolved to make a night on't. +I'll go to Alderman Fondlewife by and by, and get fifty pieces more +from him. Adslidikins, bully, we'll wallow in wine and women. +Why, this same Madeira wine has made me as light as a grasshopper. +Hist, hist, bully, dost thou see those tearers? [Sings.] Look you +what here is--look you what here is--toll--loll--dera--toll--loll-- +agad, t'other glass of Madeira, and I durst have attacked 'em in my +own proper person, without your help. + +BLUFF. Come on then, knight. But do you know what to say to them? + +SIR JO. Say: pooh, pox, I've enough to say--never fear it--that +is, if I can but think on't: truth is, I have but a treacherous +memory. + +BELIN. O frightful! cousin, what shall we do? These things come +towards us. + +ARAM. No matter. I see Vainlove coming this way--and, to confess +my failing, I am willing to give him an opportunity of making his +peace with me--and to rid me of these coxcombs, when I seem opprest +with 'em, will be a fair one. + +BLUFF. Ladies, by these hilts you are well met. + +ARAM. We are afraid not. + +BLUFF. What says my pretty little knapsack carrier. [To BELINDA.] + +BELIN. O monstrous filthy fellow! good slovenly Captain Huffe, +Bluffe (what is your hideous name?) be gone: you stink of brandy +and tobacco, most soldier-like. Foh. [Spits.] + +SIR JO. Now am I slap-dash down in the mouth, and have not one +word to say! [Aside.] + +ARAM. I hope my fool has not confidence enough to be troublesome. +[Aside.] + +SIR JO. Hem! Pray, madam, which way is the wind? + +ARAM. A pithy question. Have you sent your wits for a venture, +sir, that you enquire? + +SIR JO. Nay, now I'm in, I can prattle like a magpie. [Aside.] + + +SCENE X. + + +[To them] SHARPER and VAINLOVE at some distance. + +BELIN. Dear Araminta, I'm tired. + +ARAM. 'Tis but pulling off our masks, and obliging Vainlove to +know us. I'll be rid of my fool by fair means.--Well, Sir Joseph, +you shall see my face; but, be gone immediately. I see one that +will be jealous, to find me in discourse with you. Be discreet. +No reply; but away. [Unmasks.] + +SIR JO. The great fortune, that dined at my Lady Freelove's! Sir +Joseph, thou art a made man. Agad, I'm in love up to the ears. +But I'll be discreet, and hushed. [Aside.] + +BLUFF. Nay, by the world, I'll see your face. + +BELIN. You shall. [Unmasks.] + +SHARP. Ladies, your humble servant. We were afraid you would not +have given us leave to know you. + +ARAM. We thought to have been private. But we find fools have the +same advantage over a face in a mask that a coward has while the +sword is in the scabbard, so were forced to draw in our own +defence. + +BLUFF. My blood rises at that fellow: I can't stay where he is; +and I must not draw in the park. [To SIR JOSEPH.] + +SIR JO. I wish I durst stay to let her know my lodging. + + +SCENE XI. + + +ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, SHARPER. + +SHARP. There is in true beauty, as in courage, somewhat which +narrow souls cannot dare to admire. And see, the owls are fled, as +at the break of day. + +BELIN. Very courtly. I believe Mr. Vainlove has not rubbed his +eyes since break of day neither, he looks as if he durst not +approach. Nay, come, cousin, be friends with him. I swear he +looks so very simply--ha, ha, ha. Well, a lover in the state of +separation from his mistress is like a body without a soul. Mr. +Vainlove, shall I be bound for your good behaviour for the future? + +VAIN. Now must I pretend ignorance equal to hers, of what she +knows as well as I. [Aside.] Men are apt to offend ('tis true) +where they find most goodness to forgive. But, madam, I hope I +shall prove of a temper not to abuse mercy by committing new +offences. + +ARAM. So cold! [Aside.] + +BELIN. I have broke the ice for you, Mr. Vainlove, and so I leave +you. Come, Mr. Sharper, you and I will take a turn, and laugh at +the vulgar--both the great vulgar and the small. O Gad! I have a +great passion for Cowley. Don't you admire him? + +SHARP. Oh, madam! he was our English Horace. + +BELIN. Ah so fine! so extremely fine! So everything in the world +that I like--O Lord, walk this way--I see a couple; I'll give you +their history. + + +SCENE XII. + + +ARAMINTA, VAINLOVE. + +VAIN. I find, madam, the formality of the law must be observed, +though the penalty of it be dispensed with, and an offender must +plead to his arraignment, though he has his pardon in his pocket. + +ARAM. I'm amazed! This insolence exceeds t'other; whoever has +encouraged you to this assurance, presuming upon the easiness of my +temper, has much deceived you, and so you shall find. + +VAIN. Hey day! Which way now? Here's fine doubling. [Aside.] + +ARAM. Base man! Was it not enough to affront me with your saucy +passion? + +VAIN. You have given that passion a much kinder epithet than +saucy, in another place. + +ARAM. Another place! Some villainous design to blast my honour. +But though thou hadst all the treachery and malice of thy sex, thou +canst not lay a blemish on my fame. No, I have not erred in one +favourable thought of mankind. How time might have deceived me in +you, I know not; my opinion was but young, and your early baseness +has prevented its growing to a wrong belief. Unworthy and +ungrateful! be gone, and never see me more. + +VAIN. Did I dream? or do I dream? Shall I believe my eyes, or +ears? The vision is here still. Your passion, madam, will admit +of no farther reasoning; but here's a silent witness of your +acquaintance. [Takes our the letter, and offers it: she snatches +it, and throws it away.] + +ARAM. There's poison in everything you touch. Blisters will +follow - + +VAIN. That tongue, which denies what the hands have done. + +ARAM. Still mystically senseless and impudent; I find I must leave +the place. + +VAIN. No, madam, I'm gone. She knows her name's to it, which she +will be unwilling to expose to the censure of the first finder. + +ARAM. Woman's obstinacy made me blind to what woman's curiosity +now tempts me to see. [Takes up the letter.] + + +SCENE XIII. + + +BELINDA, SHARPER. + +BELIN. Nay, we have spared nobody, I swear. Mr. Sharper, you're a +pure man; where did you get this excellent talent of railing? + +SHARP. Faith, madam, the talent was born with me:--I confess I +have taken care to improve it, to qualify me for the society of +ladies. + +BELIN. Nay, sure, railing is the best qualification in a woman's +man. + + +SCENE XIV. + + +[To them] FOOTMAN. + +SHARP. The second best, indeed, I think. + +BELIN. How now, Pace? Where's my cousin? + +FOOT. She's not very well, madam, and has sent to know if your +ladyship would have the coach come again for you? + +BELIN. O Lord, no, I'll go along with her. Come, Mr. Sharper. + + +SCENE XV. + + +SCENE: A chamber in Fondlewife's house. + +LAETITIA and BELLMOUR, his cloak, hat, etc., lying loose about the +chamber. + +BELL. Here's nobody, nor no noise--'twas nothing but your fears. + +LAET. I durst have sworn I had heard my monster's voice. I swear +I was heartily frightened; feel how my heart beats. + +BELL. 'Tis an alarm to love--come in again, and let us - + +FOND. [Without.] Cocky, Cocky, where are you, Cocky? I'm come +home. + +LAET. Ah! There he is. Make haste, gather up your things. + +FOND. Cocky, Cocky, open the door. + +BELL. Pox choke him, would his horns were in his throat. My +patch, my patch. [Looking about, and gathering up his things.] + +LAET. My jewel, art thou there?--No matter for your patch.--You +s'an't tum in, Nykin--run into my chamber, quickly, quickly--You +s'an't tum in. + +FOND. Nay, prithee, dear, i'feck I'm in haste. + +LAET. Then I'll let you in. [Opens the door.] + + +SCENE XVI. + + +LAETITIA, FONDLEWIFE, SIR JOSEPH. + +FOND. Kiss, dear--I met the master of the ship by the way, and I +must have my papers of accounts out of your cabinet. + +LAET. Oh, I'm undone! [Aside.] + +SIR JO. Pray, first let me have fifty pound, good Alderman, for +I'm in haste. + +FOND. A hundred has already been paid by your order. Fifty? I +have the sum ready in gold in my closet. + + +SCENE XVII. + + +LAETITIA, SIR JOSEPH. + +SIR JO. Agad, it's a curious, fine, pretty rogue; I'll speak to +her.--Pray, Madam, what news d'ye hear? + +LAET. Sir, I seldom stir abroad. [Walks about in disorder.] + +SIR JO. I wonder at that, Madam, for 'tis most curious fine +weather. + +LAET. Methinks 't has been very ill weather. + +SIR JO. As you say, madam, 'tis pretty bad weather, and has been +so a great while. + + +SCENE XVIII. + + +[To them] FONDLEWIFE. + +FOND. Here are fifty pieces in this purse, Sir Joseph; if you will +tarry a moment, till I fetch my papers, I'll wait upon you down- +stairs. + +LAET. Ruined, past redemption! what shall I do--ha! this fool may +be of use. (Aside.) [As FONDLEWIFE is going into the chamber, she +runs to SIR JOSEPH, almost pushes him down, and cries out.] Stand +off, rude ruffian. Help me, my dear. O bless me! Why will you +leave me alone with such a Satyr? + +FOND. Bless us! What's the matter? What's the matter? + +LAET. Your back was no sooner turned, but like a lion he came open +mouthed upon me, and would have ravished a kiss from me by main +force. + +SIR JO. O Lord! Oh, terrible! Ha, ha, ha. Is your wife mad, +Alderman? + +LAET. Oh! I'm sick with the fright; won't you take him out of my +sight? + +FOND. O traitor! I'm astonished. O bloody-minded traitor! + +SIR JO. Hey-day! Traitor yourself. By the Lord Harry, I was in +most danger of being ravished, if you go to that. + +FOND. Oh, how the blasphemous wretch swears! Out of my house, +thou son of the whore of Babylon; offspring of Bel and the Dragon.- +-Bless us! ravish my wife! my Dinah! Oh, Shechemite! Begone, I +say. + +SIR JO. Why, the devil's in the people, I think. + + +SCENE XIX. + + +LAETITIA, FONDLEWIFE + +LAET. Oh! won't you follow, and see him out of doors, my dear? + +FOND. I'll shut this door to secure him from coming back--Give me +the key of your cabinet, Cocky. Ravish my wife before my face? I +warrant he's a Papist in his heart at least, if not a Frenchman. + +LAET. What can I do now! (Aside.) Oh! my dear, I have been in +such a fright, that I forgot to tell you, poor Mr. Spintext has a +sad fit of the colic, and is forced to lie down upon our bed-- +you'll disturb him; I can tread softlier. + +FOND. Alack, poor man--no, no--you don't know the papers--I won't +disturb him; give me the key. [She gives him the key, goes to the +chamber door and speaks aloud.] + +LAET. 'Tis nobody but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. Spintext, lie still on +your stomach; lying on your stomach will ease you of the colic. + +FOND. Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don't let me disturb you. + + +SCENE XX. + + +LAETITIA alone. + +LAET. Sure, when he does not see his face, he won't discover him. +Dear fortune, help me but this once, and I'll never run in thy debt +again. But this opportunity is the Devil. + + +SCENE XXI. + + +FONDLEWIFE returns with Papers. + +FOND. Good lack! good lack! I profess the poor man is in great +torment; he lies as flat--Dear, you should heat a trencher, or a +napkin.--Where's Deborah? Let her clap some warm thing to his +stomach, or chafe it with a warm hand rather than fail. What +book's this? [Sees the book that BELLMOUR forgot.] + +LAET. Mr. Spintext's prayer-book, dear. Pray Heaven it be a +prayer-book. [Aside.] + +FOND. Good man! I warrant he dropped it on purpose that you might +take it up and read some of the pious ejaculations. [Taking up the +book.] O bless me! O monstrous! A prayer-book? Ay, this is the +devil's paternoster. Hold, let me see: The Innocent Adultery. + +LAET. Misfortune! now all's ruined again. [Aside.] + +BELL. [Peeping]. Damned chance! If I had gone a-whoring with the +Practice of Piety in my pocket I had never been discovered. + +FOND. Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! Here's doctrine! Ay, +here's discipline! + +LAET. Dear husband, I'm amazed. Sure it is a good book, and only +tends to the speculation of sin. + +FOND. Speculation! No no; something went farther than speculation +when I was not to be let in.--Where is this apocryphal elder? I'll +ferret him. + +LAET. I'm so distracted, I can't think of a lie. [Aside.] + + +SCENE XXII. + + +LAETITIA and FONDLEWIFE haling out BELLMOUR. + +FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, how now! Who +have we here? + +LAET. Ha! [Shrieks as surprised.] + +FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then brutified? Ay, I feel +it here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, I am ripe-horn-mad. But who +in the devil's name are you? Mercy on me for swearing. But - + +LAET. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are you? What are you? + +BELL. Soh! + +LAET. In the name of the--O! Good, my dear, don't come near it; +I'm afraid 'tis the devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear. + +FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, no, I am afraid +'tis the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, with the pox. Come Syren, +speak, confess, who is this reverend, brawny pastor. + +LAET. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I never saw this +wicked man before. + +FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems. + +LAET. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of a sheep. + +FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper clothing--woman's flesh. +What, you know nothing of him, but his fleece here! You don't love +mutton? you Magdalen unconverted. + +BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.--That is, very honourably to +excuse her, and very impudently accuse myself. [Aside.] + +LAET. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the heaven of your +embraces again, my dear, if ever I saw his face before. + +FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration of your impudence. +Look at him a little better; he is more modest, I warrant you, than +to deny it. Come, were you two never face to face before? Speak. + +BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think myself obliged to +speak the truth in justice to your wife.--No. + +FOND. Humph. + +LAET. No, indeed, dear. + +FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must confess. +But, what--not to be cured of the colic? Don't you know your +patient, Mrs. Quack? Oh, 'lie upon your stomach; lying upon your +stomach will cure you of the colic.' Ah! answer me, Jezebel? + +LAET. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does he think I have +nothing to do but excuse him? 'tis enough if I can clear my own +innocence to my own dear. + +BELL. By my troth, and so 'tis. I have been a little too +backward; that's the truth on't. + +FOND. Come, sir, who are you, in the first place? And what are +you? + +BELL. A whore-master. + +FOND. Very concise. + +LAET. O beastly, impudent creature. + +FOND. Well, sir, and what came you hither for? + +BELL. To lie with your wife. + +FOND. Good again. A very civil person this, and I believe speaks +truth. + +LAET. Oh, insupportable impudence. + +FOND. Well, sir; pray be covered--and you have--Heh! You have +finished the matter, heh? And I am, as I should be, a sort of +civil perquisite to a whore-master, called a cuckold, heh? Is it +not so? Come, I'm inclining to believe every word you say. + +BELL. Why, faith, I must confess, so I designed you; but you were +a little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindered the making of your +own fortune. + +FOND. Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once and go back of +your word you are not the person I took you for. Come, come, go on +boldly.--What, don't be ashamed of your profession.--Confess, +confess; I shall love thee the better for't. I shall, i'feck. +What, dost think I don't know how to behave myself in the +employment of a cuckold, and have been three years apprentice to +matrimony? Come, come; plain dealing is a jewel. + +BELL. Well, since I see thou art a good, honest fellow, I'll +confess the whole matter to thee. + +FOND. Oh, I am a very honest fellow. You never lay with an +honester man's wife in your life. + +LAET. How my heart aches! All my comfort lies in his impudence, +and heaven be praised, he has a considerable portion. [Aside.] + +BELL. In short, then, I was informed of the opportunity of your +absence by my spy (for faith, honest Isaac, I have a long time +designed thee this favour). I knew Spintext was to come by your +direction. But I laid a trap for him, and procured his habit, in +which I passed upon your servants, and was conducted hither. I +pretended a fit of the colic, to excuse my lying down upon your +bed; hoping that when she heard of it, her good nature would bring +her to administer remedies for my distemper. You know what might +have followed. But, like an uncivil person, you knocked at the +door before your wife was come to me. + +FOND. Ha! This is apocryphal; I may choose whether I will believe +it or no. + +BELL. That you may, faith, and I hope you won't believe a word +on't--but I can't help telling the truth, for my life. + +FOND. How! would not you have me believe you, say you? + +BELL. No; for then you must of consequence part with your wife, +and there will be some hopes of having her upon the public; then +the encouragement of a separate maintenance - + +FOND. No, no; for that matter, when she and I part, she'll carry +her separate maintenance about her. + +LAET. Ah, cruel dear, how can you be so barbarous? You'll break +my heart, if you talk of parting. [Cries.] + +FOND. Ah, dissembling vermin! + +BELL. How can'st thou be so cruel, Isaac? Thou hast the heart of +a mountain-tiger. By the faith of a sincere sinner, she's innocent +for me. Go to him, madam, fling your snowy arms about his stubborn +neck; bathe his relentless face in your salt trickling tears. [She +goes and hangs upon his neck, and kisses him. BELLMOUR kisses her +hand behind FONDLEWIFE'S back.] So, a few soft words, and a kiss, +and the good man melts. See how kind nature works, and boils over +in him. + +LAET. Indeed, my dear, I was but just come down stairs, when you +knocked at the door; and the maid told me Mr. Spintext was ill of +the colic upon our bed. And won't you speak to me, cruel Nykin? +Indeed, I'll die, if you don't. + +FOND. Ah! No, no, I cannot speak, my heart's so full--I have been +a tender husband, a tender yoke-fellow; you know I have.--But thou +hast been a faithless Delilah, and the Philistines--Heh! Art thou +not vile and unclean, heh? Speak. [Weeping.] + +LAET. No-h. [Sighing.] + +FOND. Oh that I could believe thee! + +LAET. Oh, my heart will break. [Seeming to faint.] + +FOND. Heh, how! No, stay, stay, I will believe thee, I will. +Pray bend her forward, sir. + +LAET. Oh! oh! Where is my dear? + +FOND. Here, here; I do believe thee. I won't believe my own eyes. + +BELL. For my part, I am so charmed with the love of your turtle to +you, that I'll go and solicit matrimony with all my might and main. + +FOND. Well, well, sir; as long as I believe it, 'tis well enough. +No thanks to you, sir, for her virtue.--But, I'll show you the way +out of my house, if you please. Come, my dear. Nay, I will +believe thee, I do, i'feck. + +BELL. See the great blessing of an easy faith; opinion cannot err. + +No husband, by his wife, can be deceived; +She still is virtuous, if she's so believed. + + + +ACT V.--SCENE I. + + + +SCENE: The Street. + +BELLMOUR in fanatic habit, SETTER, HEARTWELL, LUCY. + +BELL. Setter! Well encountered. + +SET. Joy of your return, sir. Have you made a good voyage? or +have you brought your own lading back? + +BELL. No, I have brought nothing but ballast back--made a +delicious voyage, Setter; and might have rode at anchor in the port +till this time, but the enemy surprised us--I would unrig. + +SET. I attend you, sir. + +BELL. Ha! Is it not that Heartwell at Sylvia's door? Be gone +quickly, I'll follow you--I would not be known. Pox take 'em, they +stand just in my way. + + +SCENE II. + + +BELLMOUR, HEARTWELL, LUCY. + +HEART. I'm impatient till it be done. + +LUCY. That may be, without troubling yourself to go again for your +brother's chaplain. Don't you see that stalking form of godliness? + +HEART. O ay; he's a fanatic. + +LUCY. An executioner qualified to do your business. He has been +lawfully ordained. + +HEART. I'll pay him well, if you'll break the matter to him. + +LUCY. I warrant you.--Do you go and prepare your bride. + + +SCENE III. + + +BELLMOUR, LUCY. + +BELL. Humph, sits the wind there? What a lucky rogue am I! Oh, +what sport will be here, if I can persuade this wench to secrecy! + +LUCY. Sir: reverend sir. + +BELL. Madam. [Discovers himself.] + +LUCY. Now, goodness have mercy upon me! Mr. Bellmour! is it you? + +BELL. Even I. What dost think? + +LUCY. Think! That I should not believe my eyes, and that you are +not what you seem to be. + +BELL. True. But to convince thee who I am, thou knowest my old +token. [Kisses her.] + +LUCY. Nay, Mr. Bellmour: O Lard! I believe you are a parson in +good earnest, you kiss so devoutly. + +BELL. Well, your business with me, Lucy? + +LUCY. I had none, but through mistake. + +BELL. Which mistake you must go through with, Lucy. Come, I know +the intrigue between Heartwell and your mistress; and you mistook +me for Tribulation Spintext, to marry 'em--Ha? are not matters in +this posture? Confess: come, I'll be faithful; I will, i'faith. +What! diffide in me, Lucy? + +LUCY. Alas-a-day! You and Mr. Vainlove, between you, have ruined +my poor mistress: you have made a gap in her reputation; and can +you blame her if she make it up with a husband? + +BELL. Well, is it as I say? + +LUCY. Well, it is then: but you'll be secret? + +BELL. Phuh, secret, ay. And to be out of thy debt, I'll trust +thee with another secret. Your mistress must not marry Heartwell, +Lucy. + +LUCY. How! O Lord! + +BELL. Nay, don't be in passion, Lucy:- I'll provide a fitter +husband for her. Come, here's earnest of my good intentions for +thee too; let this mollify. [Gives her money.] Look you, +Heartwell is my friend; and though he be blind, I must not see him +fall into the snare, and unwittingly marry a whore. + +LUCY. Whore! I'd have you to know my mistress scorns - + +BELL. Nay, nay: look you, Lucy; there are whores of as good +quality. But to the purpose, if you will give me leave to acquaint +you with it. Do you carry on the mistake of me: I'll marry 'em. +Nay, don't pause; if you do, I'll spoil all. I have some private +reasons for what I do, which I'll tell you within. In the +meantime, I promise--and rely upon me--to help your mistress to a +husband: nay, and thee too, Lucy. Here's my hand, I will; with a +fresh assurance. [Gives her more money.] + +LUCY. Ah, the devil is not so cunning. You know my easy nature. +Well, for once I'll venture to serve you; but if you do deceive me, +the curse of all kind, tender-hearted women light upon you! + +BELL. That's as much as to say, the pox take me. Well, lead on. + + +SCENE IV. + + +VAINLOVE, SHARPER, and SETTER. + +SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy? + +SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you found me, +and overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry 'em. + +SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. I'll plague Heartwell +when I see him. Prithee, Frank, let's tease him; make him fret +till he foam at the mouth, and disgorge his matrimonial oath with +interest. Come, thou'rt musty - + +SET. [To SHARPER.] Sir, a word with you. [Whispers him.] + +VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the letter--I'm sure he +tells me truth;--but I'm not sure she told him truth: yet she was +unaffectedly concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and +surprise: and so I remember in the park. She had reason, if I +wrong her. I begin to doubt. + +SHARP. Say'st thou so? + +SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master received +the letter. + +SHARP. In my conscience, like enough. + +SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I'm sure I can fish it out of +her: she's the very sluice to her lady's secrets: 'tis but +setting her mill agoing, and I can drain her of 'em all. + +SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the fault: this +letter, that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; only a trick of +Sylvia in revenge, contrived by Lucy. + +VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, sirrah? + +SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was pumping me +about how your worship's affairs stood towards Madam Araminta; as, +when you had seen her last? when you were to see her next? and, +where you were to be found at that time? and such like. + +VAIN. And where did you tell her? + +SET. In the Piazza. + +VAIN. There I received the letter--it must be so--and why did you +not find me out, to tell me this before, sot? + +SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour. + +SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no objection to +the excuse. + +VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity--if I have lost her, I deserve it. +But if confession and repentance be of force, I'll win her, or +weary her into a forgiveness. + +SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth. + + +SCENE V. + + +SHARPER, BELLMOUR, SETTER. + +SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes. + +SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous mischief--no real fanatic +can look better pleased after a successful sermon of sedition. + +BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a jest! Speak when thou +art ready. + +SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly disappoint thy +mirth: hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much gravity as a +bishop hears venereal causes in the spiritual court. Not so much +as wrinkle my face with one smile; but let thee look simply, and +laugh by thyself. + +BELL. Pshaw, no; I have a better opinion of thy wit. Gad, I defy +thee. + +SHARP. Were it not loss of time you should make the experiment. +But honest Setter, here, overheard you with Lucy, and has told me +all. + +BELL. Nay, then, I thank thee for not putting me out of +countenance. But, to tell you something you don't know. I got an +opportunity after I had married 'em, of discovering the cheat to +Sylvia. She took it at first, as another woman would the like +disappointment; but my promise to make her amends quickly with +another husband somewhat pacified her. + +SHARP. But how the devil do you think to acquit yourself of your +promise? Will you marry her yourself? + +BELL. I have no such intentions at present. Prithee, wilt thou +think a little for me? I am sure the ingenious Mr. Setter will +assist. + +SET. O Lord, sir! + +BELL. I'll leave him with you, and go shift my habit. + + +SCENE VI. + + +SHARPER, SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, and BLUFFE. + +SHARP. Heh! Sure fortune has sent this fool hither on purpose. +Setter, stand close; seem not to observe 'em; and, hark ye. +[Whispers.] + +BLUFF. Fear him not. I am prepared for him now, and he shall find +he might have safer roused a sleeping lion. + +SIR JO. Hush, hush! don't you see him? + +BLUFF. Show him to me. Where is he? + +SIR JO. Nay, don't speak so loud. I don't jest as I did a little +while ago. Look yonder! Agad, if he should hear the lion roar, +he'd cudgel him into an ass, and his primitive braying. Don't you +remember the story in AEsop's Fables, bully? Agad, there are good +morals to be picked out of AEsop's Fables, let me tell you that, +and Reynard the Fox too. + +BLUFF. Damn your morals. + +SIR JO. Prithee, don't speak so loud. + +BLUFF. Damn your morals; I must revenge the affront done to my +honour. [In a low voice.] + +SIR JO. Ay; do, do, captain, if you think fitting. You may +dispose of your own flesh as you think fitting, d'ye see, but, by +the Lord Harry, I'll leave you. [Stealing away upon his tip-toes.] + +BLUFF. Prodigious! What, will you forsake your friend in +extremity? You can't in honour refuse to carry him a challenge. +[Almost whispering, and treading softly after him.] + +SIR JO. Prithee, what do you see in my face that looks as if I +would carry a challenge? Honour is your province, captain; take +it. All the world know me to be a knight, and a man of worship. + +SET. I warrant you, sir, I'm instructed. + +SHARP. Impossible! Araminta take a liking to a fool? [Aloud.] + +SET. Her head runs on nothing else, nor she can talk of nothing +else. + +SHARP. I know she commanded him all the while we were in the Park; +but I thought it had been only to make Vainlove jealous. + +SIR JO. How's this! Good bully, hold your breath and let's +hearken. Agad, this must be I. + +SHARP. Death, it can't be. An oaf, an idiot, a wittal. + +SIR JO. Ay, now it's out; 'tis I, my own individual person. + +SHARP. A wretch that has flown for shelter to the lowest shrub of +mankind, and seeks protection from a blasted coward. + +SIR JO. That's you, bully back. [BLUFFE frowns upon SIR JOSEPH.] + +SHARP. She has given Vainlove her promise to marry him before to- +morrow morning. Has she not? [To SETTER.] + +SET. She has, sir; and I have it in charge to attend her all this +evening, in order to conduct her to the place appointed. + +SHARP. Well, I'll go and inform your master; and do you press her +to make all the haste imaginable. + + +SCENE VII. + + +SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. + +SET. Were I a rogue now, what a noble prize could I dispose of! A +goodly pinnace, richly laden, and to launch forth under my +auspicious convoy. Twelve thousand pounds and all her rigging, +besides what lies concealed under hatches. Ha! all this committed +to my care! Avaunt, temptation! Setter, show thyself a person of +worth; be true to thy trust, and be reputed honest. Reputed +honest! Hum: is that all? Ay; for to be honest is nothing; the +reputation of it is all. Reputation! what have such poor rogues as +I to do with reputation? 'tis above us; and for men of quality, +they are above it; so that reputation is even as foolish a thing as +honesty. And, for my part, if I meet Sir Joseph with a purse of +gold in his hand, I'll dispose of mine to the best advantage. + +SIR JO. Heh, heh, heh: Here 'tis for you, i'faith, Mr. Setter. +Nay, I'll take you at your word. [Chinking a purse.] + +SET. Sir Joseph and the captain, too! undone! undone! I'm undone, +my master's undone, my lady's undone, and all the business is +undone. + +SIR JO. No, no; never fear, man; the lady's business shall be +done. What, come, Mr. Setter, I have overheard all, and to speak +is but loss of time; but if there be occasion, let these worthy +gentlemen intercede for me. [Gives him gold.] + +SET. O lord, sir, what d'ye mean? Corrupt my honesty? They have +indeed very persuading faces. But - + +SIR JO. 'Tis too little, there's more, man. There, take all. Now +- + +SET. Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with you - + +SIR JO. And how, and how, good Setter, did the little rogue look +when she talked of Sir Joseph? Did not her eyes twinkle and her +mouth water? Did not she pull up her little bubbies? And--agad, +I'm so overjoyed--And stroke down her belly? and then step aside to +tie her garter when she was thinking of her love? Heh, Setter! + +SET. Oh, yes, sir. + +SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because I'm in the +lady's favour? No matter, I'll make your peace: I know they were +a little smart upon you. But I warrant I'll bring you into the +lady's good graces. + +BLUFF. Pshaw, I have petitions to show from other-guess toys than +she. Look here; these were sent me this morning. There, read. +[Shows letters]. That--that's a scrawl of quality. Here, here's +from a countess too. Hum--No, hold--that's from a knight's wife-- +she sent it me by her husband. But here, both these are from +persons of great quality. + +SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, or no +quality at all, 'tis such a damned ugly hand. [While SIR JOSEPH +reads, BLUFFE whispers SETTER.] + +SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this is so +difficult. + +BLUFF. Not at all. Don't I know him? + +SET. You'll remember the conditions? + +BLUFF. I'll give it you under my hand. In the meantime, here's +earnest. [Gives him money.] Come, knight, I'm capitulating with +Mr. Setter for you. + +SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I'll give thee anything but a +night's lodging. + + +SCENE VIII. + + +SHARPER tugging in HEARTWELL. + +SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with me. May be +she mayn't be within. 'Tis but to yond corner-house. + +HEART. Whither? Whither? Which corner-house. + +SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts. + +HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? (O'ons, how my +heart aches.) + +SHARP. Pshaw, thou'rt so troublesome and inquisitive. My, I'll +tell you; 'tis a young creature that Vainlove debauched and has +forsaken. Did you never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia? + +HEART. Death, and hell, and marriage! My wife! [Aside.] + +SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that had found +his wife knowing the first night. + +HEART. Hell, and the Devil! Does he know it? But, hold; if he +should not, I were a fool to discover it. I'll dissemble, and try +him. [Aside.] Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of +melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief? + +SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but have their year of +probation before they are cloistered in the narrow joys of wedlock. +But, prithee, come along with me or I'll go and have the lady to +myself. B'w'y George. [Going.] + +HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! Death! Shall I own +my shame or wittingly let him go and whore my wife? No, that's +insupportable. O Sharper! + +SHARP. How now? + +HEART. Oh, I am married. + +SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married! + +HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married. + +SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long? + +HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married these two hours. + +SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a jest. Ha, ha, ha. + +HEART. Death! D'ye mock me? Hark ye, if either you esteem my +friendship, or your own safety--come not near that house--that +corner-house--that hot brothel. Ask no questions. + +SHARP. Mad, by this light. + +Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: +Married in haste, we may repent at leisure. + + +SCENE IX. + + +SHARPER, SETTER. + +SET. Some by experience find these words misplaced: +At leisure married, they repent in haste. + +As I suppose my master Heartwell. + +SHARP. Here again, my Mercury! + +SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my achievements do +deserve the epithet--Mercury was a pimp too, but, though I blush to +own it, at this time, I must confess I am somewhat fallen from the +dignity of my function, and do condescend to be scandalously +employed in the promotion of vulgar matrimony. + +SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp? + +SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs depending--our +stratagem succeeded as you intended--Bluffe turns errant traitor; +bribes me to make a private conveyance of the lady to him, and put +a shame-settlement upon Sir Joseph. + +SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope - + +SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately informed the knight +of the treachery, who has agreed seemingly to be cheated, that the +captain may be so in reality. + +SHARP. Where's the bride? + +SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a friend's house of +mine. Here's company coming; if you'll walk this way, sir, I'll +tell you. + + +SCENE X. + + +BELLMOUR, BELINDA, ARAMINTA, and VAINLOVE. + +VAIN. Oh, 'twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive it? Men in +madness have a title to your pity. [To ARAMINTA.] + +ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to their senses. + +VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon. + +ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, how insolent +would a real pardon make you! But there's no need to forgive what +is not worth my anger. + +BELIN. O' my conscience, I could find in my heart to marry thee, +purely to be rid of thee--at least thou art so troublesome a lover, +there's hopes thou'lt make a more than ordinary quiet husband. [To +BELLMOUR.] + +BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye? + +BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the MODE have made marriage a +mere French dish. + +BELL. I hope there's no French sauce. [Aside.] + +BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, your +courtship, one would think you meant a noble entertainment--but +when we come to feed, 'tis all froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, +often, only remains, which have been I know not how many times +warmed for other company, and at last served up cold to the wife. + +BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not afford +one warm dish for the wife of his bosom. But you timorous virgins +form a dreadful chimaera of a husband, as of a creature contrary to +that soft, humble, pliant, easy thing, a lover; so guess at plagues +in matrimony, in opposition to the pleasures of courtship. Alas! +courtship to marriage, is but as the music in the play-house, until +the curtain's drawn; but that once up, then opens the scene of +pleasure. + +BELIN. Oh, foh,--no: rather courtship to marriage, as a very +witty prologue to a very dull play. + + +SCENE XI. + + +[To them] SHARPER. + +SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you'll bring the ladies, make haste to +Sylvia's lodgings, before Heartwell has fretted himself out of +breath. + +BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge yourself upon +Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. [To BELINDA.] + +BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast. + +ARAM. 'Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never been at our +house since. + +BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that corner- +house, and I'll tell you by the way what may divert and surprise +you. + + +SCENE XII. + + +SCENE: Sylvia's Lodgings. + +HEARTWELL and BOY. + +HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid? + +BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them out--Setter, I think +they called him. + +HEART. So-h--that precious pimp too--damned, damned strumpet! +could she not contain herself on her wedding-day? not hold out till +night? Oh, cursed state! how wide we err, when apprehensive of the +load of life. + +We hope to find +That help which Nature meant in womankind, +To man that supplemental self-designed; +But proves a burning caustic when applied, +And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide +The bone when broken, than when made a bride. + + +SCENE XIII. + + +[To him] BELLMOUR, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, ARAMINTA. + +BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the chimes of verse +were past, when once the doleful marriage-knell was rung. + +HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [VAINLOVE and ARAMINTA +talk apart.] + +BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, sir. + +HEART. 'Tis not in thy nature to give me joy. A woman can as soon +give immortality. + +BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when they are +married. + +BELL. That they are fit for no company but their wives. + +BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I swear, at the +month's end, you shall hardly find a married man that will do a +civil thing to his wife, or say a civil thing to anybody else. How +he looks already, ha, ha, ha. + +BELL. Ha, ha, ha! + +HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For you, sir, I +shall find a time; but take off your wasp here, or the clown may +grow boisterous; I have a fly-flap. + +BELIN. You have occasion for't, your wife has been blown upon. + +BELL. That's home. + +HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my vexation, or +anything, but another woman. You've racked my patience; begone, or +by - + +BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil--thou wilt not draw upon a +woman? + +VAIN. What's the matter? + +ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him? + +BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced. + +VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too much. 'Tis all +serious to him. + +BELIN. Nay, I swear, I begin to pity him myself. + +HEART. Damn your pity!--but let me be calm a little. How have I +deserved this of you? any of ye? Sir, have I impaired the honour +of your house, promised your sister marriage, and whored her? +Wherein have I injured you? Did I bring a physician to your father +when he lay expiring, and endeavour to prolong his life, and you +one and twenty? Madam, have I had an opportunity with you and +baulked it? Did you ever offer me the favour that I refused it? +Or - + +BELIN. Oh foh! what does the filthy fellow mean? Lord, let me be +gone. + +ARAM. Hang me, if I pity you; you are right enough served. + +BELL. This is a little scurrilous though. + +VAIN. Nay, 'tis a sore of your own scratching--well, George? + +HEART. You are the principal cause of all my present ills. If +Sylvia had not been your mistress, my wife might have been honest. + +VAIN. And if Sylvia had not been your wife, my mistress might have +been just. There, we are even. But have a good heart, I heard of +your misfortune, and come to your relief. + +HEART. When execution's over, you offer a reprieve. + +VAIN. What would you give? + +HEART. Oh! Anything, everything, a leg or two, or an arm; nay, I +would be divorced from my virility to be divorced from my wife. + + +SCENE XIV. + + +[To them] SHARPER. + +VAIN. Faith, that's a sure way: but here's one can sell you +freedom better cheap. + +SHARP. Vainlove, I have been a kind of a godfather to you yonder. +I have promised and vowed some things in your name which I think +you are bound to perform. + +VAIN. No signing to a blank, friend. + +SHARP. No, I'll deal fairly with you. 'Tis a full and free +discharge to Sir Joseph Wittal and Captain Bluffe; for all injuries +whatsoever, done unto you by them, until the present date hereof. +How say you? + +VAIN. Agreed. + +SHARP. Then, let me beg these ladies to wear their masks, a +moment. Come in, gentlemen and ladies. + +HEART. What the devil's all this to me? + +VAIN. Patience. + + +SCENE the Last + + +[To them] SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE, SYLVIA, LUCY, SETTER. + +BLUFF. All injuries whatsoever, Mr. Sharper. + +SIR JO. Ay, ay, whatsoever, Captain, stick to that; whatsoever. + +SHARP. 'Tis done, these gentlemen are witnesses to the general +release. + +VAIN. Ay, ay, to this instant moment. I have passed an act of +oblivion. + +BLUFF. 'Tis very generous, sir, since I needs must own - + +SIR JO. No, no, Captain, you need not own, heh, heh, heh. 'Tis I +must own - + +BLUFF.--That you are over-reached too, ha, ha, ha, only a little +art military used--only undermined, or so, as shall appear by the +fair Araminta, my wife's permission. Oh, the devil, cheated at +last! [Lucy unmasks.] + +SIR JO. Only a little art-military trick, captain, only +countermined, or so. Mr. Vainlove, I suppose you know whom I have +got--now, but all's forgiven. + +VAIN. I know whom you have not got; pray ladies convince him. +[ARAM. and BELIN. unmask.] + +SIR JO. Ah! oh Lord, my heart aches. Ah! Setter, a rogue of all +sides. + +SHARP. Sir Joseph, you had better have pre-engaged this +gentleman's pardon: for though Vainlove be so generous to forgive +the loss of his mistress, I know not how Heartwell may take the +loss of his wife. [SYLVIA unmasks.] + +HEART. My wife! By this light 'tis she, the very cockatrice. O +Sharper! Let me embrace thee. But art thou sure she is really +married to him? + +SET. Really and lawfully married, I am witness. + +SHARP. Bellmour will unriddle to you. [HEARTWELL goes to +BELLMOUR.] + +SIR JO. Pray, madam, who are you? For I find you and I are like +to be better acquainted. + +SYLV. The worst of me is, that I am your wife - + +SHARP. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as you fear. +A fine lady, and a lady of very good quality. + +SIR JO. Thanks to my knighthood, she's a lady - + +VAIN. That deserves a fool with a better title. Pray use her as +my relation, or you shall hear on't. + +BLUFF. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse? + +SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected accordingly. +Well, honest Lucy, fare thee well. I think, you and I have been +play-fellows off and on, any time this seven years. + +LUCY. Hold your prating. I'm thinking what vocation I shall +follow while my spouse is planting laurels in the wars. + +BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I plant laurels +for my head abroad, I may find the branches sprout at home. + +HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank thee. And I +cannot in gratitude (for I see which way thou art going) see thee +fall into the same snare out of which thou hast delivered me. + +BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but there is a +fatality in marriage, for I find I'm resolute. + +HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon you. For my +part, I have once escaped; and when I wed again, may she be--ugly, +as an old bawd. + +VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid - + +BELL. Wanton, as a young widow - + +SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife. + +HEART. Agreed. + +BELL. Well; 'midst of these dreadful denunciations, and +notwithstanding the warning and example before me, I commit myself +to lasting durance. + +BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. [Giving her hand.] + +BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance? + +VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing? + +ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of our friend's +experience first. + +BELL. O' my conscience she dares not consent, for fear he should +recant. [Aside.] Well, we shall have your company to church in +the morning. May be it may get you an appetite to see us fall to +before you. Setter, did not you tell me? - + +SET. They're at the door: I'll call 'em in. + + +A DANCE. + + +BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. Come take your +fellow-travellers. Old George, I'm sorry to see thee still plod on +alone. + +HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling bells made proud, +The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud. +A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds, +And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields. +But, oh - +What rugged ways attend the noon of life! +Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife, +What pain we tug that galling load, a wife. +All coursers the first heat with vigour run; +But 'tis with whip and spur the race is won. +[Exeunt Omnes.] + + + +EPILOGUE. +Spoken by MRS. BARRY. + + + +As a rash girl, who will all hazards run, +And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone, +Soon as her curiosity is over, +Would give the world she could her toy recover, +So fares it with our poet; and I'm sent +To tell you he already does repent: +Would you were all as forward to keep Lent. +Now the deed's done, the giddy thing has leisure +To think o' th' sting, that's in the tail of pleasure. +Methinks I hear him in consideration: +What will the world say? Where's my reputation? +Now that's at stake. No, fool, 'tis out o' fashion. +If loss of that should follow want of wit, +How many undone men were in the pit! +Why that's some comfort to an author's fears, +If he's an ass, he will be tryed by's peers. +But hold, I am exceeding my commission: +My business here was humbly to petition; +But we're so used to rail on these occasions, +I could not help one trial of your patience: +For 'tis our way, you know, for fear o' th' worst, +To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first. +How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected? +I swear, young Bays within is so dejected, +'Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him? +But then you cruel critics would so maul him! +Yet may be you'll encourage a beginner; +But how? Just as the devil does a sinner. +Women and wits are used e'en much at one, +You gain your end, and damn 'em when you've done. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Old Bachelor, by William Congreve + diff --git a/old/oldba10.zip b/old/oldba10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..36ce1af --- /dev/null +++ b/old/oldba10.zip |
